Balance of Power
by Evie Delacourt
Summary: Nine hundred years after King Kelson's ascent to the throne of Gwynedd, the distant descendants of that generation of Deryni must deal with a new threat to the royal line and a swiftly unfolding crisis that once again imperils the ever-delicate balance of human/Deryni relations. (Note: FFN's edit window changes all my em dashes to hyphens. Sorry! I do know the difference! *sigh*)
1. Chapter 1

**Balance of Power**

 _For Kirienne, greatly missed. Ego sum resurrectio et vita . . ._

 **Prologue**

 _Late evening  
Somewhere over the Connait  
15 December 2021_

In less than a minute, centuries of Deryni domination over the Kingdom of Gwynedd would come to an end. Not coincidentally, so would one of the oldest reigning dynasties in all of the Ancient Kingdoms. And it would all be due to his carefully laid plans.

Not his alone, of course. He had accomplices in this, his life's work. Though after today, there would be fewer left alive to know what he had engineered. That was fine. He was hardly doing this for fame, after all. No, there was a higher goal in sight.

If it were possible, he would aim for the eradication of the entire Deryni race, but as that goal seemed hardly likely—in his lifetime, anyway—he would settle for leveling the playing field between humans and Deryni just a little more. Erode away at their power, eliminate their primary sources of support, and eventually their whole race would diminish, like the great monuments of old, crumbling into dust. Metaphorically, at least.

Not so metaphorically, in the case of the royal residence in the ancient halls of Rhemuth Castle.

He glanced at his watch. It was time.

He leaned back in his seat, barely able to contain a smile as he enjoyed the view from his airplane window. Several miles away, a distant flash on the horizon brightened the eastern sky.

* * *

 **Chapter One**

 _Earlier that evening  
A flat near Saint Camber's College,  
University of Rhemuth_

"So, how did you meet him?"

Jennifer DeLisle tapped a slender finger against the wedding portrait as she looked up at her friend and former flatmate, whom she had not seen for the past two and a half years. The recent bride, Eilonwy Adams, leaned back in her chair with a wry smile.

"Would you believe it was an arranged match?"

"Right." Jen chuckled briefly, her eyes widening in dawning astonishment as she belatedly realized that her friend was serious. She leaned forward, intently studying the young woman seated across the coffee table from her. "Wait, really? You're not joking?"

Eilonwy shrugged, idly twirling a lock of silky chestnut hair around her fingertip. "It's not that easy to find eligible Deryni men these days. Mother arranged for me to meet a friend of a friend. Patrick and I went out a few times, and . . . well, it turned out we had a lot in common. Besides both being Deryni, I mean."

"Wow." Jen regarded the smiling man in the photo. "And you're happy?"

"Yeah." The newlywed grinned. "I actually am."

"Amazing." Jen handed the photo back to Eilonwy. "I mean, it's wonderful that things turned out so well for the two of you. But . . . ." She shook her head with a quiet laugh. "Loni, you have surely got to be the last woman in 21st Century Gwynedd to have an arranged marriage!"

"It's truly not as rare as you might think," Eilonwy protested with a laugh of her own. "At least not among our kind. It's not so very different from using one of the online dating services, after all. If you ever decide to consider it, Patrick knows a few really hot guys who are looking to find a Deryni wife . . . ." She laughed as Jen raised her hand as if to ward off the rest of her offer. "All right, all right! I'm just joking. Mostly."

Jen shook her head, still chuckling. "And speaking of your mother, how is Maureen?"

Eilonwy sighed. "She's fine, for the most part. Keeping herself busy. She still misses Da, but it's been three years now. She's mostly picked up the pieces and learned how to move on."

Jen nodded. The untimely loss of Professor Sir Will Sheehan, the late Distinguished Professor of Medieval History and Archeology at Saint Camber's College, the University of Rhemuth, had been a shock to all who had known him. As deeply as her own grief had run, both as his research assistant at the time of his death and as a friend, she couldn't even begin to imagine how much harder his death had been for his family.

"I'm glad to hear she's doing well."

"And you?" Eilonwy countered. "How was Americia?"

Jennifer flushed, wondering if she'd imagined the faint note of reproach in Eilonwy's voice. After Professor Sheehan's death, Jen had completed the rest of the university term in a fog before fleeing across the Atalantic Ocean to complete her studies in the New World, far from the friends she'd made here in Gwynedd, her ancestral homeland. She'd told herself she had moved home to Americia to be closer to her family, but that had been a lie. She'd fled Gwynedd to escape her grief, heedless of how her abrupt departure might affect Maureen and Eilonwy Sheehan, who had become like a second family to her. She hadn't known how to explain her need to get away at the time. Will Sheehan had been . . . what exactly had he been to her? Not like a father, exactly, nor was he her lover. Even had she wanted such a relationship with him—and she had not—he had certainly never viewed her in that light, for no other woman had held more delight for him than his beloved Maureen. But he'd been her most brilliant teacher, her mentor, and more than that, a trusted confidant. Professor Sheehan had been the first to recognize his pupil's talents. Not simply her academic potential, but her Deryni potential as well. And once her innate gifts had been brought to light, he'd turned his attention to her esoteric training as well as continuing to mentor her in her historical research. She was deeply in his debt, with no hope now of ever repaying him for the precious investment of his time and commitment.

"It was OK," Jen replied, one corner of her lips quirking in a not-quite grimace. "Mom and Dad still don't get my interest in history, so they couldn't be bothered to come to my commencement ceremony last spring. They keep waiting for me to find a 'real' job, or at least marry someone well-connected, preferably with a career they can brag about. But aside from that, it was fine. I got to spend my summers with my Gram, at least, so that made the return home worthwhile."

"I don't understand your parents," Eilonwy said, shaking her head sadly. "What goes on in their heads, I wonder?"

"No worries, I've never understood them either, and I've known them all my life. There's not much in their heads to understand, I suspect."

The door opened, and a young man entered the flat, his medium brown hair sparkling with a fine, dewy mist. At the sight of the visitor within, an engaging smile spread across his features, transforming them from merely average looking to boy-next-door attractive. "Hullo, then! Who have we here?"

His wife stood to greet him with an embrace and an affectionate peck on the cheek. "Darling, I'd like for you to meet an old friend." Turning back to her guest, she added, "Jen, as you've doubtless surmised, this is my husband Patrick Adams. Paddy, this is Jennifer DeLisle—or Doctor DeLisle now, I ought to say. Surely you'll remember me mentioning her to you."

"Quite often, sweetheart, as has your Mum as well." Patrick reached across to clasp the lovely brunette's hand in a firm handshake, his warm brown eyes studying her curiously. "Welcome back to Gwynedd, Dr DeLisle! I hope you're not too jet-lagged to stay for supper." He gave an appreciative sniff at the aromas beginning to waft in from the kitchen. "That's the plan, I trust?" he asked Eilonwy as she reached for his damp jacket.

Jennifer chuckled. "I'm fine, and yes, I do plan on staying for supper, although if that hadn't been Eilonwy's intent, no doubt she'd be giving you an earful as soon as the door shut behind my departing back tonight. I'm very glad to meet you at last, Patrick. And it's Jennifer or Jen to you, not Doctor."

"Behind your departing back?" He glanced at his wife. "She's not staying over?"

Eilonwy rolled her eyes as she turned back from hanging his jacket up near the heater to dry off. "I told her we've got a guest room, but she insists on putting up at the Royal Astari."

Jen blushed. She had made the hotel reservation in advance of her trip, not knowing what sort of welcome she might receive from Sir Will's family after her overly hasty departure from Gwynedd three years earlier. "I suppose I could bring my things over tomorrow, if you're both certain that having a house guest for a few days wouldn't be too inconvenient. I already had the first night's stay at the RA reserved, and I didn't know if the hotel would charge a fee for late cancellation."

"You know you've always got a bed under my roof," Eilonwy assured her, glancing at her husband with an expression that brooked no argument, not that he had any reason to object. "So that's settled. And besides, Jen, Patrick has an allergy to throwing away money needlessly."

He shrugged, acknowledging the comment with a wry smile. "You can take a lad out of the Borders, but you can't take the Borders out of a lad."

"I thought I detected a faint hint of Border brogue under that thin veneer of a Central Lowlands accent." Jen tilted her head consideringly. "No, don't tell me . . . Cassan?"

"No, just a bit across the Gulf from there. Rhendall. North rather than northwest, but all of us Border folk sound alike." He winked.

Jen laughed. "You do not! Even my untrained Americian ears can tell that much. But you could almost pass for Rhemuth born."

"Which neighborhood? That's not necessarily a compliment." Patrick grinned. "You can blame public school and uni for spoiling my Border brogue and turning me into a toff."

"No worries there, darling; you'd never pass for a toff," his wife teased. "Never mind that you technically qualify." For Jennifer's benefit, she added, "He's a Traherne on his Mum's side."

"Really? Any relation to the Earl?"

Patrick looked slightly sheepish. "His grand-nephew. Why, do you know him?"

"The present Earl? Not at all. His early twelfth-century forebears? Fairly well, actually."

Eilonwy giggled at her husband's baffled look. "Jen's speciality was in Kelsonian-era history."

"Ah. I see. Um . . . Twelfth Century . . . Which Kelson would that have been? The original, wasn't he? The one responsible for the Pax Kelsona between Gwynedd and Torenth, not to mention nearly single-handedly ending a couple of centuries of Deryni persecution?"

"Yes, that Kelson. Kelson the First, also known as Kelson the Great." Eilonwy sidled towards the kitchen door as the chime of a timer announced that their main course was ready to come out of the oven. "Your great-great-great-God-knows-how-far-removed grandfather was his brother-in-law or something."

"His uncle's brother-in-law," the newly-minted Doctor of Medieval Studies corrected her.

"Whatever," Eilonwy's voice called out from the kitchen.

* * *

 _Later that same evening  
Peter Astari's personal penthouse suite  
Royal Astari Hotel  
City of Rhemuth_

Lady Maureen McLain-Sheehan covertly studied her luxurious surroundings. Like everything else that had Peter Astari's personal stamp upon it, its elegance reflected its owner's wealth without being gaudy or ostentatious. The suite, despite the sumptuous furnishings and objets d'art that had doubtless been pulled together by one of Gwynedd's foremost interior decorators, looked comfortable and well lived in. Even without having to resort to her Deryni gifts, she could sense that Peter spent a great deal of time in these rooms during his frequent visits to his flagship hotel. She could hardly blame him. To her artist's eye, the elements of design surrounding her set off the man himself like a well-crafted piece of jewelry set off a brilliant gemstone.

The gemstone in question arched a raven eyebrow at her, and Maureen realized she must have missed his last question. "I'm sorry? I was wool gathering, I'm afraid."

Astari smiled. "I gathered that. Lusting after my suite again? I keep telling you that you're welcome to stay here any time you'd like."

Maureen fought the urge to blush. Peter had started growing flirtatious of late, and she could never quite tell if he was joking or serious. She could Read his intentions, of course, but hardly without him sensing what she was up to, and that would be even more embarrassing. Although she was well past those initial pain-filled months that had followed her husband's death, and her grief had begun to ease in the following three years since that horrible day, she had not quite come to terms with considering herself a single woman yet, much less one ready to venture into the perilous waters of dating again, not to mention intimate relationships.

His smile grew to a grin. "Even if I'm not here. That was an invitation, not a pick up line, although . . . ." His expansive gesture indicated that he was certainly open to the alternative interpretation. Maureen lost her battle, her cheeks growing warm as a blush suffused her fair skin. She ducked her head slightly, hoping her coppery curls would help to conceal her flushed cheeks. Astari chuckled. "As I was saying earlier, would you like a drink? Wine, maybe, or a cider? I seem to recall you're quite keen on Gold Lion."

"No, thank you, although perhaps some tea would hit the spot, if it's no bother."

"Not at all. What type would you like?"

"Darja would be fine. Smoke-infused, if you have that sort handy. I know not everyone keeps it on hand."

Deep blue eyes the color of the mountain lakes in her native Cassan shone with suppressed amusement. "Of course I have smoke-infused darja, dear. This is the Royal Astari. We have everything." He stood, walking over to a nearby console to call down her order.

A soft but resonant chime, felt almost as much as heard, alerted both Deryni to the arrival of a private lift, and a moment later Maureen heard the lift doors opening in an adjoining room. She glanced at Astari, wondering if he was expecting another visitor. Whoever it was had to be another Deryni, for she knew that particular lift descended directly to a ground-level Transfer Portal, its coordinates known only to a very few of Peter Astari's most trusted friends. She was privileged to be among that select few. Though, Peter being the cautious man that he was, both ends of the secret Portal lift had been made as secure as the most esoteric of spell work could make them, for one never knew if a Portal's coordinates might somehow become known to one's enemies, and as both one of Gwynedd's wealthiest entrepreneurs and a Deryni, Astari certainly had never lacked for enemies.

Astari's expression reflected his own surprise at the unexpected arrival. "Well, well! Let's see who's turned up, and why." His long, ground-eating stride took him swiftly down the corridor to the small chamber housing the private lift. Maureen followed close behind him, also curious.

The tiny room, although comfortably appointed with a cozy chair, a small table with several magazine selections, a mini-fridge, and an adjoining lavatory, was also a dead end to anyone not specifically permitted into the penthouse suite by Peter Astari himself. The entrance to the main suite itself was heavily warded. On the other side of the warded doorway, a dark-haired young man wearing a somewhat worn black jacket, a shirt with a clerical collar and slightly faded black jeans comically mimed being trapped inside a glass box, although he carefully kept his open palms from actually touching the glowing barrier before him.

Astari shook his head with a suppressed smile and reached a hand through the ward. The priest took it, allowing himself to be pulled through the energy barrier. He glanced beyond Astari at his other guest. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you had company. Ah . . . Not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Alas, no," their host replied with a teasing glance at Maureen.

The priest grinned. "Good! I didn't fancy having to kick your reprobate bum." He winked at Maureen. "Good to see you again, Lady Maureen. It's been awhile."

"Far too long. How have you been, Father Devlin?"

"Can't complain."

"Come join us," Peter Astari invited, motioning toward the main sitting room of the suite.

Devlin O'Shiele made his way to the seating area with the air of a man well accustomed to visiting Astari's private apartment and made himself comfortable in a corner chair.

"Your usual?" Astari asked.

"Please."

Astari went to the wet bar and pulled two bottles of St George's Stout from the cooler there. A ding from the dumbwaiter signaled the arrival of Maureen's tea service. Astari added the bottles and a bottle opener to the tray holding the small teapot and porcelain cup and set the assortment down on the coffee table. "Milk? Sugar?" he asked as he poured Maureen's tea for her.

Maureen shook her head as she savored the sweet, smoky aroma wafting from her steaming brew. "No, thank you. Black is fine."

"Aye, nothing to dilute the flavor of liquid campfire smoke," Devlin joked.

"So, what brings you out this way?" Astari asked the priest once he had served both guests and had settled onto the sofa beside Maureen. "Your mission is sponsoring another charitable donation drive?"

"No, nothing like that. Besides, we're still having to dream up ways to spend your last donation, not that I'm complaining. It was beyond generous. Thank you." He leaned back in the chair, regarding both of the Deryni before him. "Actually, I'm very glad you're here, Lady Maureen. I've heard rumors of something troubling that may possibly be in the works, but nothing concrete enough to call a full meeting of the Council over. Still . . . ." He frowned, his handsome features looking more serious than usual. "What can either of you tell me about a group called Humanity Ascendant?"

"Nothing good," supplied Astari. "On the surface, they claim to be pushing for complete equality between humankind and Deryni—whatever that might mean, since legally, socially, and in every other way aside from their inability to use Deryni powers, they're in every way equal to us already. If anything, they've got better protected civil rights. Behind the scenes, I've long suspected the group to be behind any number of anti-Deryni terrorist activities, although thus far nothing has managed to be proved."

"I've always figured them for a human supremacist group," Maureen added.

"That's pretty much the case, yes," Astari confirmed. "So, what about Humanity Ascendant?"

"Well . . . Please understand, what I'm about to show you might not actually have anything to do with them, although my gut hunch says it does. My . . . my informant was rather vague on the details, and he might have been mistaken or confused about some of the particulars of what he was trying to warn me about. He was dying when I arrived, and may simply have been delirious, although he seemed lucid to me. Still, I figured you might want to know off the record, as a Council coadjutor, just in case the threat is genuine." He held out a hand to Astari and, after a momentary pause, to Maureen as well. "And before you ask, I got his permission to share this with you. Well, not specifically with _you,_ but with anyone who might be able to stop the plot from being carried out."

Astari's eyebrows rose skyward. "Plot? Now you truly have captured my interest!"

"Wait!" Maureen interrupted, forehead furrowing in concern. "Are you talking about some sort of terrorist plot that could be in the works? Shouldn't you be taking this to the police rather than bringing it to us?"

"Did that first," Devlin assured her, his fingers closing around hers. "But let me just show you."

 _A hospital room. The priest rushed to the lad's bedside, hoping it wasn't too late. Devlin had been warned ahead of time that the young man—features blurred in this shared memory, although both Astari and Maureen sensed he'd been barely out of his teens—was at death's door. Even despite the severity of his condition, the patient had refused the services of a hospital chaplain. Said he'd only trust one priest to hear his confession. And so Devlin had gone._

 _He'd been, or so the young man had whispered as he lay dying, the only man who'd ever believed in him, who'd ever told him he could amount to something, if only he'd leave off running with the wrong crowd. And so the lad had tried to live up to the priest's belief in him, but had tried too late, and that had led him here, to this cold and overly bright room where he lay internally bleeding to death for his folly._

 _But before he died, there was one thing he had to share. Something he had to reveal, must purge from his conscience if he was to meet his Creator that very night. He wasn't even entirely certain there was a God, although he knew he'd been christened as a baby and had been made to attend Easter and Christmas Masses while his grandmother was still alive. Though whether that God was waiting to receive his soul or not, he didn't actually know. But in case there was any chance of that, he wanted to make things right. And so he'd called on the one churchman he'd ever known who'd ever given a damn about him. And now here he was._

 _The pain-killing drugs were beginning to make his mind drift, or perhaps it was simply the death process itself, but the dying man had rallied his energies for one last confession. "They've found some way in! . . . I tried to stop them, but they said they'd kill me if I backed out. I ran . . . ." An attempt at a laugh turned into a moan. "That didn't work out too well for me, did it, Father?"_

 _Devlin had somehow managed to summon up a responsive smile. "A way into where? Tried to stop whom?" Even then, his mind had been awhirl with the implications of what he was hearing._

 _"The castle. . . ." The voice trailed off and the young man's glassy eyes drifted shut. For a moment Devlin feared the lad had already died, but then he resumed speaking, his voice momentarily stronger. "Eric plans to use some sort of portal to get in, but he's human, so I don't know how he's going to make that work."_

 _A portal that humans couldn't normally access. The Deryni priest could think of several castles that might have active Transfer Portals, but the most likely option in the short list that sprang to mind made him feel lightheaded. "Exactly what does Eric plan to do, and where?"_

 _"Kill them all . . . ." The dying youth had squeezed his hand. "You have to warn them. . . warn someone . . . ."_

 _Devlin could sense him weakening. The hand relaxed, dropped away. "I have your permission to share what you've just told me with anyone I need to?"_

 _"Yes, Father. I tried to stop them, but I couldn't. For . . .forgive?"_

 _The priest delayed no longer. He granted the dying lad absolution, followed by the sacrament of Extreme Unction. As he finished, he felt the unseen presence of Uriel arriving to usher the departing soul into the hereafter._

Maureen's eyes were bright with unshed tears as the priest severed the mental link between them. "Oh, poor boy!"

Astari, more pragmatic, simply asked, "You said you've contacted the police?"

"Oh yes. They were already investigating the hit and run accident, so the information I gave them may have upped the charge from accidental manslaughter to premeditated murder, if they ever manage to track down the driver. But as for the threat against the castle and family, it's all very vague, isn't it? Not much in the way of leads to go on, although they've assured me that they'll pass the word on to the anti-terrorist squad. But I'm worried it might not be seen as a credible threat, or even if it is, that the investigators might not manage to work through the list of possibilities in time to save whichever Deryni family is in danger, wherever they are. At least I assume it's a Deryni family at risk, given the existence of a Transfer Portal in their castle."

Astari tapped his index finger against his lips, looking thoughtful. "I imagine they'll increase security at Rhemuth Castle, Eirian House, Corwyn, and Valoret at the very least—can't risk the Royal Family coming to any harm, even on the basis of a vague possible threat—but as to narrowing down the choices beyond that . . . Well, it would be easy enough for them to pull together a list of castles that are still habitable rather quickly, and possibly even narrow that down to which of those castles belong to Deryni families. Known Deryni, at least. I doubt an inquiry into how many of those castles have active Transfer Portals is going to be very forthcoming, though. Deryni have never been keen on sharing information that could end up being used against them. I don't suppose you did a Death Reading for more useful information?"

The priest stared at his host. "Hell, no!" After a moment to recover from the momentary shock Astari's question had caused, he added, "At any rate, I had higher priorities at the time. Even if I had been inclined to try a Death Reading, by the time I had finished administering the sacraments, there would have been little useful information left to retrieve." Devlin looked slightly ill at the very thought of violating the precious and sacred trust between penitent and priest in such a way.

"Ah well, can't be helped now." Astari considered the matter a moment longer before adding, "Do you have any idea of the time frame we have to work within? Is it an immediate risk, or still in the planning stages?"

Devlin shook his head. "Not a clue. I got the sense that the threat could be imminent, though that sense of urgency could be due to my penitent feeling he needed to warn me before he succumbed to his injuries."

"Maybe we should do some investigating on our own," Maureen suggested. "After all, we're in a somewhat better condition to know which Deryni families—including some who aren't openly Deryni—may need to be warned of this sort of threat and to be able to contact them quickly, without needing to disclose any information they might desire to keep private from a government agency. I know my father wouldn't be too keen on having it on record that he's got an active Portal at Ballymar. His is unregistered."

"You're sure you want to admit that our Duke of Cassan has been negligent in his civic duty in the presence of our fine, upstanding young citizen here?" Astari teased, shooting a sidelong look at Devlin. "He might feel it's his conscientious duty to report the lapse."

Devlin chuckled. "Sorry, my mind must have been wandering. Didn't hear a word Lady Maureen just said. Did I miss anything?" He grinned. "Besides, if I report His Grace, I strongly suspect I'd need to report you as well, Peter. Or does Her Majesty's Government know you've got a sketchy lift that leads from your penthouse to a basement room with no other apparent entrance?"

"Hm. Remind me to kill you before you leave, that should sort things nicely." Peter Astari rose and walked over to the large window overlooking the city. In the near distance, not much more than a mile away, the dark bulk of Rhemuth Castle loomed over the city, its shape silhouetted in the growing gloom of nightfall. "I agree, Maureen, it would be a good idea for us to follow up on the threat discreetly." He thought back over the details of the confession that Devlin had shared with them. "Your penitent said that 'Eric' was behind this plot." He looked back over his shoulder at the priest. "You're thinking he meant Eric Armitage? And that's why you think this is all linked in with Humanity Ascendant?"

"Yes. I know that's sheer speculation, and I could be completely wrong, but I have reason to believe that's the 'Eric' he was referring to."

"Reasons stemming from one or more sources you're unable to confirm or deny, because they may or may not have come from one or more of those wayward young men at your mission?" Astari sighed, not really expecting an answer to the question, and not receiving one. "Damn it, Dev, I hate to say it, but that whole 'seal of the confessional' tradition is a real pain in the arse at times!"

The priest gave him a wry smile. "Tell me about it, but it's necessary, even if it's occasionally awkward. Leaving all that aside though, I _do_ have other sources of information outside of the confessional. It's open knowledge in my neighborhood that Eric Armitage and his group are actively recruiting amongst my young street lads, hence my suspicions. So no, I'm not talking out of turn. You ought to know me better than _that,_ Peter!"

Peter Astari sighed. "I know, I know. Still, it would be helpful if you priestly lot could be just a little bit less close-mouthed when occasions such as this arise." He reached into his pocket for his smartphone. Scrolling through his contacts list, he commented, "I'm sure Anti-Terrorism is on the case by now, but knowing how slowly the wheels of bureaucracy can turn, I'm thinking it might be a good idea to ring up Her Majesty and let her know what's up more direct—"

A cry of horror from Maureen and the startled outburst of an epithet more scatalogical than saintly from the priest, coupled with a sudden brilliant flash over the city skyline, made him look up.

"Dear God, we're too late!" Maureen moaned, staring transfixed at the conflagration before them.

Father Devlin O'Shiele all but melted into his chair, eyes closed, crossing himself as his lips moved in fervent prayer. Peter Astari briefly considered calling emergency services, but the wail of sirens somewhere in the streets below assured him that a swift response was already under way.

* * *

 _Late evening  
Royal Hospital  
City of Rhemuth  
15 December, 2021_

Sophia Morgana Anastasia von Horthy Haldane Formacek wanted little more than to close her weary eyes and rest for a few minutes, but there was little time for that. As a medical intern at the Royal Hospital of Rhemuth, she was lucky to have a few moments to spare before seeing the next patient, and her shift wasn't scheduled to end for another hour. Despite her royal status, she didn't feel very much like a princess at the moment, and a glance at her blood-stained scrubs assured her she didn't look like one either.

"Dr Formacek? You're needed back in Emergency."

She gave the nurse a tired smile and nodded to let her know she'd heard. Not for the first time, Sophia wished she knew that fatigue-banishing trick that trained Deryni used on occasions such as this. She knew she carried the Deryni gene in both the Haldane and von Horthy sides of her lineage, but the attendant powers had grown diluted over time, and the Formacek part of her bloodline was, so far as she knew, merely human. Her mother the Queen had some sort of Deryni-like powers, Sophia was vaguely aware, but that was a closely held secret even from most of the family, much less the general population, and Sophia was not entirely sure how those powers had been awakened from dormancy. Something had happened shortly before Mother's Coronation, something that was rarely ever referred to, and always in hushed tones. Sophia was not in a need-to-know position, it seemed, and so she had never learned all of the particulars. As a young child at the time, she'd been more upset over losing her beloved grandfather than interested in whatever might have transpired behind the scenes when her mother went from becoming simply her Mummy to being Her Majesty Araxelle of Gwynedd. All Sophia could remember now about any changes in her mother's abilities around that time was that suddenly she couldn't get any fibs past her, not even the little white lie sort.

Sophia made her way down the hospital corridors back toward the emergency ward, paying little notice to what was happening around her, so caught up was she in her childhood memories. She suspected there was good reason she'd never been told exactly what had happened in those dimly remembered days prior to her mother's Coronation, even now that she was an adult and fifth in line to the throne. (Sophia had been third in line before the birth of her elder brother's twins earlier that spring, a happy occasion that had resulted in much rejoicing among most of Gwyneddan society, not to mention a sudden increase in tourism and the explosion of the souvenir industry.)

As she turned a corner and approached the emergency ward doors, she suddenly noticed frantic activity before her. Medical personnel scurried to wheel in multiple casualties.

Sophia quickened her steps, intending to help, only to be stopped by the Chief of Emergency Medicine. "No, Your Royal Highness, not in there! My office, please." He gestured down the hallway with his free hand, his craggy features ashen.

She stared uncomprehendingly at him. "But . . . I'm needed in Emergency, sir! I need to go!" She made an attempt to turn away, but something, some awareness of something very wrong, niggled at the back of her mind. He'd addressed her by her formal title. Why? Here on hospital grounds, she was Dr Formacek, not Princess Sophia. Most of her colleagues knew who she was, of course, but she needed to fit in with her team, not stand above them, so this was not the place for standing on ceremony.

"Your Royal Highness." It was one of her armsmen, normally hovering so unobtrusively in the background that she tended to forget they were there while she was working, who stepped up to take her arm, urging her away from the hubbub surrounding the emergency room entrance. The look in his eyes frightened her.

"What's happening, Michael?" she whispered as she entered the chairman's office. At the desk, her other bodyguard hung up his phone, his eyes brimming with tears.

"Please have a seat, Your—" This second bodyguard's voice broke. He swallowed hard. "I regret to inform you, Your Majesty, that the royal apartments at Rhemuth Castle were destroyed in an explosion about ten minutes ago. Evacuation of the palace is still in progress, but as for your immediate family . . . Ma'am, I'm afraid it appears at this time that there were no survivors."

"You must be mistaken!" The young medical intern and now queen presumptive of Gwynedd stared at her senior bodyguard in shock. "There have to be survivors! I'm not . . . Mum . . . Her Majesty can't be . . . ." She shook her head as if to clear her brain of the mental fog that threatened to envelop it. "I'm only fifth in the succession. My brother . . . ."

"His Royal Highness was at the Palace with Her Majesty when the blast went off, along with the Princess of Meara and their two children. As you'll recall, they were preparing for a tour of Camberia later in the week, which is why they decided on a pre-Christmas visit before they set off. I'm sorry, Ma'am, but I'm afraid you are the sole survivor of the House of Haldane. In the direct line of descent, at any rate."

Sophia blinked away tears. "Me? Not my sister?"

"Princess Stefanie survived the original blast, but she succumbed to her injuries before the ambulance could make it to hospital. As for Her Majesty—Her late Majesty, that is—she was closer to the center of the blast radius. We have reason to believe she died instantly."

Comprehension was slow in coming. "I want to see her."

The younger bodyguard's eyes widened, his head slowly shaking as he met the other man's eyes. Her senior bodyguard looked equally dismayed. "I'm afraid that won't be possible." Gently he reached out and took her hand, brushing it with his lips in a gesture that combined deference to his new sovereign and compassion for the bereaved girl. Then, putting protocol aside, he wrapped an arm around her shaking shoulders as comprehension caught up and the young Queen retched. Her junior bodyguard leaped forward in haste, handing her a wastebasket.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

 _Mid-morning  
A flat near Saint Camber's College,  
University of Rhemuth  
16 December, 2021_

"Official sources within the Ministry of Defense have verified this morning that the youngest child of her late Majesty the Queen, now Her Majesty Queen Sophia the Second, was not _at Rhemuth Castle at the time of the attack and is presently in safe-keeping at an undisclosed location until those who perpetrated this outrage can be brought to justice. The Archbishops of Valoret and Rhemuth have asked that we all pray for strength and comfort for Her Majesty in this time of trial. God save the Queen!"_

"Do you think Sophia—I mean, _the Queen_ —is adequately protected?" Eilonwy mused aloud as she watched the latest news updates coming in on the flat screen before her. "I haven't been able to reach her. The phone connection seems to be sporadic, probably overloaded by callers trying to reach loved ones, although my texts seem to be getting out. Mum sent me a reply earlier this morning. But Sophia's not answering."

Beside her, Jen tapped her fingers with nervous energy on the sofa arm. "Surely she must be protected, under the circumstances! She's got to be surrounded by security, after all. She's probably just got her phone turned off. Given what a private sort she is at heart, maybe she just needs to get away from everyone as much as she can right now, even her friends, so she can grieve without feeling like she's under the spotlight. Wouldn't you, if you were in her place?"

"I suppose you're right. But that's not what I meant." Eilonwy tore her eyes from the televised images backed with somber music streaming in live from Rhemuth Castle, and the white, strained faces of the reporters reflecting the horror-struck mood of the nation, to look at her house guest. "I mean, obviously she's under tightened security at the moment, but do you think she's got arcane protection? She was only fifth in line to the throne, after all; she never expected to inherit. And she's not got Deryni powers to fall back on, despite having von Horthy ancestry, so no help there."

"Don't forget that a number of the Haldanes were full Deryni as well," Jen pointed out.

"Well, not for the past century at the very least," Eilonwy countered. "That we know of, anyway." She raised an eyebrow at her friend. "God knows the Royal Family would have good enough reason to downplay their Deryni heritage these days. But it's well known the Formaceks are full human. Or as much full-anything as anyone can be certain of being, among royalty at least."

Jen winced as the reporter's camera panned across the smoldering ruins of one of Rhemuth Castle's apartment blocks. "Sweet Saint Camber, over a thousand years of Gwyneddan history destroyed in an instant!" Turning her attention back to the conversation at hand, she added, "How important are magical protections in this day and age, when an assassin can do something like this without risk to himself in some archaic Duel Arcane?" She gestured at the screen.

"They're not quite as outdated as you might think," Eilonwy cautioned. "Just downplayed to keep from giving humans another reason to demand that we Deryni be 'cured' from our genetic 'defect' in order to curtail our 'latent tendencies toward violence.'"

"Or to demand that everyone has the right to have the Deryni gene sequence spliced in so that all of humanity can benefit from equal opportunity sharing of power," Jen replied. "Don't forget the arguments swing in favor of that option too. At least in Americia they do."

Eilonwy slanted a sidelong glance at Jen. "Tell me you haven't joined that bandwagon."

Jen shook her head. "On the surface, the argument seems reasonable enough, and medical research has just about reached the point of making that possible, I think, but when I stop to consider which segments of society keep screaming the loudest for that to happen, it scares me a little to think of what the world would be like if everyone actually did have Deryni powers. We've got enough crackpots out there needing reining in among our naturally-born Deryni population that we don't need to aggravate the problem by deliberately empowering more lunatics to have magical powers."

"Nearly everyone in Camberia has Deryni powers, at least to some degree, and I would hardly call that social experiment a raging success," Eilonwy mused.

"Given that Camberia was forcibly settled as a means of exiling Deryni troublemakers from the Ancient Kingdoms to a place halfway around the world where they could thrive or kill themselves off at leisure and be 'out of sight, out of mind,' one can hardly blame them for still having a bit of a chip on their collective shoulder where humans are concerned. But yes, even aside from that, I see your point." Jen sighed. "Why can't we just all learn to live with each other's differences? You'd think after all these millennia of sharing a planet, people might learn?"

Eilonwy chuckled. "You'd think. But even if we ever stop squabbling between the subspecies of Deryni-mutated vs non-Deryni humanity, it would be race, or class, or politics, or religion, or any number of issues that people choose to focus on rather than trying to find things we can at least mostly agree on. Bloody-minded human nature, that is."

Jen watched as two men on-screen wearing protective gear carefully moved aside a charred block of stone, possibly with the discreet assistance of some telekinetic powers since the block appeared rather large to be shifted without the use of heavy-lifting equipment. A disheveled medic came into view, disappearing into the newly unblocked space. "Do you think they'll find more survivors?"

"That area of the residential block was far enough from the center of the blast, we can only hope," Eilonwy said.

The women watched in silence for a few minutes, following the commentary as the scene shifted from the blast zone to the talking heads in a news room on the other side of the city from the carnage at the palace. Eventually the scene shifted again, returning to Rhemuth Castle and the sight of more medics lifting a dust-covered man on a gurney into a waiting ambulance. The man lay in a supine position, his hands slightly cupped over his chest, and he appeared to be in remarkably good condition after his ordeal, albeit unconscious.

Eilonwy gave a low whistle.

"I'm missing something, but what?" Jen asked.

"He must have been in a room that was already actively warded before the blast hit," Eilonwy speculated, "or at least he managed to activate them before the building fully collapsed, given that he's in amazingly good condition for a man who's spent the night under tons of fallen rock. He's injured, sure, but not crushed. I don't think he just happened to survive by landing in some tiny crawl space between collapsing walls. See his hands? He must have known he was being buried alive, and so he safeguarded himself by going into deep trance in case rescue didn't arrive for several days. Wouldn't want to use up all the air, see."

Jen nodded slowly, wishing she had more training and experience in Deryni matters. "All right. But if he was warded, then how were the medics able to get to him?"

Eilonwy shrugged. "Depends on the sort of ward it was to begin with. Assuming he's an actual victim and didn't know in advance that a bomb was about to go off, he may have just gone to bed early and set the ward as a regular habit of protection throughout the night—some folks still do, you know, especially if they're the sort to have enemies who might try to catch them out in their sleep. Many Deryni have a warded room, or at least a warded bed. It would be nice to know who the man is . . . ." Her voice trailed off as she pondered this, then she remembered Jen's question and added, "If it were that sort of ward, then it would most likely have been set to dissipate after a certain amount of time or under specific conditions. Or more likely, since he appears to have some injuries, he probably had the wards set but not activated when the blast occurred, and then belatedly activated them once the room started to fall in on him. And given that he understood what was happening enough to decide to go into hibernation trance after he was buried alive in his warded bubble, he probably altered the original wards first to allow them to be breached by rescuers. Wouldn't want to be trapped inside his own wards for all time, after all. Nor would he want to set up a specific time when they would just dissipate on their own, since then he would be crushed under all that rock, if he'd not been dug out by that time." Eilonwy flashed a grim smile. "That would truly suck."

"So will the medics know how to bring him out of the trance, or will they just assume he's in a coma?" Jen asked.

"Don't know, but if there's a trained Healer in the Emergency ward—and there are nearly always Healers on call at most of the major hospitals these days—then he'll understand the situation and will know what to do. And of course the first responders and the human doctors will know just as much as any Deryni Healer about treating the physical injuries, though granted, having a Healer on hand would greatly speed up that process."

Jen leaned forward, peering intently at the people in the foreground of the scene before them. "Hang on . . . ." She glanced at Eilonwy, who had also started staring at the screen, and pointed out a man standing near one corner of the televised image. "Is that Patrick over by what's left of that wall? He works in Anti-Terrorism, doesn't he?"

Eilonwy, after a long moment, nodded. "I believe it is. I wonder . . . ." Her forehead creased in puzzlement. "Do they think Deryni were involved in this attack?"

Jen turned to her. "Deryni? Why would Deryni want to eliminate the Royal Family?"

"I haven't a clue. But normally Paddy isn't called into a crime scene unless there's some suspicion that a Deryni is involved." Eilonwy frowned. "Maybe I ought to try to ring up Mum again, see if she knows anything about this."

"Maureen?" Jen looked aghast. "You think your mother would know terrorists?"

Her friend laughed. "Well, no, not personally, or at least I hope not! No, I meant if the police think there's some rogue Deryni behind all this, Mum might need to know. She . . . ah . . . has colleagues who would need to look into the matter, if that's the case."

"But . . . ." If anything, Jen looked even more baffled. "You mean friends in her social circles, I suppose, not actually colleagues? Isn't Maureen an artist?"

"Well, yes . . . more of an art historian, really, but an artist as well. But I meant . . . well . . . It's complicated."

* * *

 _Mid-morning  
The Camberian Council chamber  
Somewhere in the Rhendall Mountains  
December 16, 2021_

As it happened, Maureen McLain-Sheehan had no need for her daughter to inform her of police suspicions that a Deryni was implicated in the attack on Rhemuth Castle. Indeed, that was the topic under lively debate among the eight Camberian Council members at that very moment.

"What makes them think a Deryni was involved?" asked Lady Violet Estridge, her tone querulous and her lips pursed in such a way that made Maureen imagine for a brief moment that the woman had been sucking on lemons before arriving at Council. It was an uncharitable thought, and Maureen quickly suppressed it, but there was no denying that the woman often tended to rub her the wrong way. "It could have been anybody, couldn't it? Why automatically point the finger at Deryni? It's just racial bias, that's what I think!" The aristocrat tossed her head, nearly disturbing her perfect coiffure.

Peter Astari, senior coadjutor of the Camberian Council, shook his head. "Unfortunately, in this case the evidence shows that the attacker entered Rhemuth Castle by way of a Transfer Portal. Since a human would be unable to use a Portal—unless he carries the gene that would allow his potential to be activated by a Deryni, but that too would indicate Deryni involvement—the police detectives have good reason to believe that a rogue Deryni is involved."

"Or his human associate," Peter's fellow coadjutor Tom Whitfield added, a worried frown creasing his forehead. He ran his fingers nervously through his short, snow white hair, making it stand on end, putting Maureen in mind of an albino hedgehog. "Maybe he was acting independently of his employer or his lover…or whatever relationship he might have had to the Deryni who activated his potential. That Deryni needn't necessarily have known about the plot . . . ."

"Why are we assuming the bomber was a man?" Elspeth McIntyre, the youngest member of the Camberian Council, interjected, looking cross. "It could just as well have been a woman . . . ."

"Oh yes, let's hear it for equal opportunity for Deryni terrorists," Lord James Arilan said, rolling his hazel eyes expressively. "We're getting a bit off point here, aren't we? Could we maybe get back to trying to figure out who among our number might have had it in for the Royal Family?" Looking pointedly at Elspeth, he added, "Male _or_ female."

"You certainly don't think one of _us_ had something to do with this, do you?" Lady Violet protested, looking horrified.

"I believe James meant another Deryni, not one of us specifically," Peter said, his calm voice soothing, although Violet continued to look a bit ruffled as she leaned back in her chair once more.

"That might not be such an easy task," Maureen said quietly. "We do keep track of known Deryni families, but what of the unknown ones out there? We're hardly omniscient, after all."

Peter chuckled. "No, but we do have a fair few resources to draw upon. It would, as you say, not be an easy task, but it would not be completely hopeless either." He paused for a long moment before adding, "One lead we have, which the Anti-Terrorism squad is also aware of, is that a young man warned them just before the attack that a man named Eric was intending to use a castle Portal to kill its residents. The warning certainly seems to be related to the attack on Rhemuth Castle."

"And who told you about this warning? Why haven't the police questioned this young man further? Surely that would quickly reveal who this 'Eric' is. Or was, if he was the bomber," Violet said.

"I told Peter and Maureen about the warning last night," Father Devlin informed her. "Unfortunately, it came too late for us to prevent the attack. And just as unfortunately, the young man who warned me was dying at the time, so the police were unable to question him."

"Well, that's awfully inconvenient," Violet said sourly, as if she considered the youth's death to be a personal affront.

"I'm sure he found it so, yes," the priest replied.

Lord James drummed his fingertips on the table lightly, a thoughtful expression on his handsome features. "If this terrorist entered Rhemuth Castle through a Transfer Portal, then he—" He glanced at Elspeth. " _Or_ she would have to have been a Haldane descendant. Either that or someone quite well trusted by the Royal Family. One can't simply pop into any of the royal residence Portals and walk right in; all of their Portals are securely warded."

"A good point," Peter said approvingly, "and one that will make our job a bit easier. That means we needn't look too closely at anyone who isn't either of Haldane descent or close to the Royal Family."

"Well, it certainly does seem to narrow the focus, although what about unknown Deryni of Haldane descent? Some of those kings got around, you know." Lady Alicia Coris flashed a wry grin.

"True," Peter added, "though we've managed to keep track of at least most of the illegitimate descendants. At any rate, Tom, since you're most familiar with our historical database, would you and James go through our genealogical archives together? I seem to recall James has a certain talent for investigative work." He glanced at the younger man, whose work for the Gwyneddan government was of a highly classified and indeed quite investigative nature. Lord James, intercepting Peter's mildly amused look, grinned back. "Flag any names of those who seem to be more likely suspects."

"How far back should we look, if we're looking for Haldane descent?" asked Tom, stroking his closely-cropped beard as he considered the problem.

"As far back as it takes." Peter glanced at Alicia. "You're the geneticist. At what level of descent from the Haldane line would their genetic markers become undetectable as specifically Haldane to the Portal wards?"

"You're asking me?" Alicia frowned. "It's not entirely a matter of genetics. A lot would depend on how the wards were originally set up, and how they've been updated and enhanced by the Royal Family since then. And 'Haldane-specific genetic markers' is rather oversimplifying things. There's too many factors to consider, but if what you're really asking me is how many generations back that Tom and James should be searching . . . ." She stopped to think for a moment. "I'd say at least five or six. But that's my gut talking, mind, not scientific certainty."

"Looks like we've got a long day ahead of us," Lord James said drily, leaning back in his chair, his long fingers interlaced behind his head, cradling it. "Are you a coffee drinker, Tom?"

The older man smiled. "I suppose I will be by the time we go through all those bloodlines. That's going to be everyone who has ever been born to someone who married into the Haldane line, all their descendants, and the descendants of all the Haldane bastards, do I have it right? And we're to focus specifically on those from the current generation who might have had it in for the Royals?"

"It might not even have been personal animosity," Elspeth mused. "After all, the monarchy is an outdated institution, well past its time."

Tom shot the young blonde a glance. "Right. So we're looking for either someone of Haldane descent or a trusted friend of the current generation of Haldanes, who either had a grudge against some member of the Royal Family or at least disapproved so strongly of the monarchy that he decided to abolish it by bombing our Royal Family to Kingdom Come. Oh, and he might be named Eric, or be associated with someone named Eric." Looking back at Peter, he arched an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"That seems to sum it up, yes." Peter affirmed. He glanced at Devlin. "Father Devlin seems to think the 'Eric' in question might be somehow connected to the group Humanity Ascendant."

"Oh hells to the no!" Elspeth exclaimed, an incredulous expression on her face as she shook her head so violently that her blonde dreadlocks nearly slapped her in the face. "Not Eric Armitage? Sure, I can imagine him gloating over the attack, can even imagine him engineering it if it weren't for the fact that a damn Portal was involved, but Eric Armitage working together with a Deryni co-conspirator to destroy the royals? That, I can't see. Why in the world would you even think Humanity Ascendant might be involved?"

"I know it sounds preposterous, and I can't actually guarantee that it _is_ involved," Devlin replied, folding his hands on the table before him, "although word on the street is that this group has been quite actively recruiting in my neighborhood in recent months. So given that we're dealing with a terrorist named 'Eric' and the fact that this happens to also be the name of the leader of Humanity Ascendant, which has long been suspected to be a front for terrorist activities. . . ." He shrugged. "In his warning to me, my informant said 'Eric plans to use some sort of portal to get in, but he's human, so I don't know how he's going to make that work.' Granted, he might not have been referring to Eric Armitage, but it's a possibility we can't completely exclude either."

Elspeth huffed. Of course you 'can't guarantee' it is Armitage, although my guess is that you've probably got some inside information as well, maybe even something that you think could damn well prove your allegations, which really ought to be shared with us if you do happen to know anything of the sort! This is no time to hide behind your stupid outmoded vow of confidentiality, or privilege, or whatever it's called. Bloody priests!"

"Respect, Elspeth!" Violet admonished, her blue eyes wide with shock as she glared at the younger woman. "Now who's the one who's being speculative? Besides, just a minute ago you were skeptical of the very idea of Mr Armitage working hand-in-hand with a Deryni—although I can't very well blame you for _that_ —but now you're turning around and demanding that Father O'Shiele must turn over information he may not even have, about an collaboration you don't even believe could exist, never mind his religious obligations, simply because _you've_ deemed those obligations to be stupid? Is that the sort of logic you infants are being taught in schools these days?"

"That will be quite enough," Peter warned, giving both Elspeth and Violet a reprimanding look. "No personal attacks against your fellow Councillors. You know the rule."

"Whatever." Elspeth looked mutinous, but she subsided, pointedly avoiding looking at Peter, Violet, or Devlin. Violet sat back with a smug smile at the younger woman.

Maureen decided it might be time for a change of topic. "What of our new Queen?" she asked. "Have provisions been put into place to activate her Haldane potential? I know Her late Majesty never expected either of her daughters to inherit the throne, given that she had a firstborn son with heirs of his own."

"If you ask me, we should just let the monarchy die out completely," Elspeth muttered. "This is the bloody 21st Century, after all, not the Middle Ages. And Sophia's got a career; it's not like she couldn't shift for herself if we go ahead and abolish the monarchy."

"Fortunately the question of whether to abolish the monarchy or not is in other hands besides ours," Lady Violet interjected. "I hardly think that is a subject we need to debate here. _Is_ Queen Sophia protected from arcane attacks? I have no idea. Certainly if she is not, then it falls upon us to reach out to her, does it not?" The white-haired aristocrat glanced at Peter Astari. "Assuming no other provisions were made for the dear girl?"

"If the late Queen stipulated no other arrangements, then yes, I believe the responsibility would fall upon us," Peter affirmed. "I had direct access to the late Queen, but unfortunately not to her daughter." He looked around the table. "Does anyone here know how to contact our new Queen, preferably in such a way that would not draw undue attention?"

Maureen hesitated briefly before commenting. "I believe my daughter Eilonwy may still be in touch with Prin . . . with the Queen. They were friends at uni. Granted, their lives took very different paths once they left university, but I think they still occasionally keep contact with each other. I could check, if you like. I don't believe my son-in-law Patrick is acquainted with our new Queen, but he is on the Anti-Terrorism squad that is investigating the Rhemuth Castle attack, so if the Queen is hidden away in one of the police safe-houses for the moment, he _may_ know how to gain access to her." She paused again. "That's just a guess, of course."

"But a reasonable one," Peter allowed. "Do I remember correctly that Eilonwy is aware you are on the Council?"

"Yes," Maureen affirmed, "she became aware of my involvement with it a few years ago, although she does not know who the rest of you are, of course, nor of any of the business that we discuss in Council. No more than the educated guesses that any Deryni aware of our existence might make, at any rate."

"That's fine," Peter said. "Eilonwy is fully trained in her powers, is she not?"

"She is." Maureen wondered where he was leading with the question.

"And are there other Deryni of her acquaintance who are also well enough acquainted with the Queen to broach the matter of arcane protection with her? Or, for that matter, to participate in the activation ritual? My guess is that the Queen will be more easily persuaded to consent to our assistance if Deryni she already knows and trusts are involved in the invoking of her Haldane powers."

"Hm." Maureen considered the question for a long moment. "Her Majesty also knows Dr Jennifer DeLisle, who is a particular friend of mine and Eilonwy's, but I don't know if Jen is far enough along in her Deryni training to participate in this sort of ritual magic. Patrick would be well qualified—as I mentioned earlier, I don't know if Patrick has ever actually met our new Queen, although since she was once quite close to Eilonwy, she may be willing to trust Eilonwy's husband as well. And myself, for that matter, since we've met a few times and she knows that I am Eilonwy's mum."

"I've met the Queen at a few social events as well," Lord James added, "and even managed a dance with her on one occasion, although I'm not certain she remembers me. But I would be honored to assist, if Her Majesty should permit."

Lady Violet gave the younger man a coy smile. "Oh, I'm quite certain she'd remember you, James. You're rather difficult for any lady to forget."

James Arilan quirked a wry smile at the aristocratic older woman in acknowledgement of the compliment, adding "It was towards the end of a very long evening, Lady Violet. Regrettably, the poor girl seemed more intent on escape than in fostering a closer acquaintance. A pity, that. I quite enjoyed our brief meetings."

"All right, then," Peter said, "if you could arrange for your daughter to make the initial contact with our new Queen, Maureen—and James, you may need to use your government contacts to ensure the possibility of that happening, given how tight the security is around HM at the moment—let's make our presence known to her at least in a limited way, and offer our assistance in empowering her arcane potential. Try to impress upon her the importance of assuming her full Haldane powers, if she's not already aware such potential exists in her family heritage. Hopefully she is, but the late Queen was always so hesitant about the use of her own powers, so God only knows how much or how little knowledge about the Haldane potential she passed on to her children."

* * *

 _Afternoon  
Tre-Arilan  
A short distance west of Rhemuth  
December 16, 2021_

"James, where in the hell have you been? You've not been answering your texts, and as spotty as the telecommunications systems have been today, I'm amazed this call's got through."

Lord James frowned slightly, not that this was visible to the person on the other side of the phone connection. "Just got out of a meeting. What's up?"

Tom Whitfield, seated at the computer station next to him, raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Problem?" he whispered.

James shook his head, holding up a hand to forestall further questions as he listened to the man on the phone. Tom nodded, continuing to type queries as he silently acknowledged the request for silence. Something the man told him caused James' eyes to widen. "Are you sure?" he asked.

Tom glanced back up at him, sensing as much through his human as his Deryni senses the excitement beginning to pour off the younger Council member. James stood, beginning to pace as he continued talking to the caller. "All right. I'll be right there. Give me . . . ." He paused before a map of downtown Rhemuth, studying a certain portion of it. "About ten minutes."

James ended the call, glanced at the Council coadjutor at the computer console. "I need to go." He paused. "Do you know Karim Al-Sayid ?"

"The Healer?" Tom inquired.

"Yes. He's down at the Royal Hospital Rhemuth, where he's just been attending to one of the survivors of the Rhemuth Castle attack."

Tom nodded, suspecting there was more to the story. "Yes?"

"It's Morgan Haldane." James grinned. "He's just regained consciousness. I need to go." He stepped toward the corridor leading to his Transfer Portal, housed in a small chamber off the inner sanctum of what was the oldest portion of the manor house. Although most of the original structure of the home had been rebuilt in the centuries since the first manor on Arilan land had been built, one portion of the now almost palatial domicile had remained more or less intact aside from the occasional restoration, and it was to this portion of the dwelling that James retreated now. He paused at the doorway. "I'll be back as soon as I can. You know how to let yourself out, or if you wish to wait and I'm not back by supper, just let Carbury know I've been delayed in town, and he'll see you fed."

"If you're going to be at the RHR in ten, you must mean to use the Portal in the sacristy at the Cathedral. Don't let Archbishop Drummond spot you. You know he takes a dim view of Deryni popping in and out unannounced outside the designated times for allowed use."

James reached into a shirt pocket and flashed a badge at his fellow Councillor. "Kingdom business." He grinned briefly, replacing the badge and shouldering open the corridor door. "Besides, I'll wager the Archbishop has rather a lot more on his mind today than who happens to be strolling through the Cathedral sacristy. I'll fill you in when I get back. _If_ you're still here."

Tom tilted his head toward James' computer system. "Oh, I'll be here. Pulling up names and running probabilities until I go mad, quite likely, so if His Grace of Corwyn recalls anything useful about the attack, feel free to ring or text me and share that information even if you can't come straight back. Would be nice to narrow down the search a tad." He gave an airy wave at his host's departing back.

* * *

 _Afternoon  
Royal Hospital  
City of Rhemuth  
December 16, 2021_

An imposing looking man wearing a white lab coat with a embroidered Healer's badge on the left side chest pocket and the name "Healer Dr Al-Sayid" monogrammed beneath it met Lord James as he entered the Intensive Care unit of the hospital. The tall black man gave James a grim smile. "You're late."

"Is there a rush? You said His Grace was in stable condition but still in recovery. I figured he wouldn't be in a hurry to go anywhere just yet."

The Healer snorted. "Do you _know_ Morgan?" he joked. "He requested discharge nearly as soon as he came out of stasis, but I insisted he remain under my care for 24 hours of observation before releasing him back into the wild. So, what the hell is going on out there that my patient needs to know about before I send him back to a more likely terrorist target like Coroth Castle?"

"You're asking me? I'm in cyber-security, not anti-terrorism. Or are you referring to the throngs of people crowding nearly every square foot of space around the Cathedral hoping to get in to pray, or stopping to leave flowers there since no one's allowed near the Castle, or wailing louder than the ambulance? Again, no need to ask me, just look out the nearest window! You ask why I'm bloody late? _That's_ why. So do I actually get to see your patient, or did you just call me over for a cozy chat? I assume since you've owned up to having him in your care, His Grace must have asked to see me."

"He did, Saint Camber alone knows why. This way."

James followed the Healer to an isolated room at the end of the corridor. A guard stood at attention outside the warded door, looking to the Healer for confirmation before allowing the visitor to approach. James sensed the brief brush of the guard's shields against his own; he turned to face the man, showing that he was aware of the mental probe and lowering his shields just enough for the guard to Read his benign intent. The guard nodded, raising a hand to sketch an opening in the ward for James to pass through. The Healer was already inside the hospital room, the wards already keyed to admit his individual psychic signature.

The patient awaiting them lay in a half-reclining position, his sandy-blond hair askew and a somewhat annoyed look on his handsome features. Pale sea-green eyes challenged the Healer upon his arrival. "How soon can I leave?"

Healer Dr Al-Sayid inclined his head politely. "We've been over that already, Your Grace. Not until tomorrow. Besides, you wouldn't wish to leave now that Lord Arilan has just arrived, would you?"

The sea-green eyes turned to James. "Get me out of here."

James shared a look with the Healer before turning back to the duke. "Are you sure that's wise?"

"You tell me, James. Somewhere out there-" The Duke of Corwyn gestured at the city skyscape beyond his window. "-The royal half of my bloodline are scattered to the four winds. Probably quite literally. If someone is targeting Haldanes, do you think it's wise to keep me here?" He glanced meaningfully around at the confining walls of his hospital room.

"Sir, you're warded and under guard," the Healer assured his patient.

"Begging your pardon, Karim, but it's not _my_ safety I'm concerned about."

A brief moment of silence as the Healer and the Councilor shared looks once more. "I see your point." Karim frowned. "I suppose that puts matters in a different light. If I discharge you, do you promise to keep any exertions to a bare minimum for the next day or two? You very nearly died last night."

"I'll do my best to keep body and soul together a bit longer. Wouldn't want you to have wasted all your efforts on my behalf," Morgan Haldane assured him.

"Your cousin Sophia is still alive," Lord James informed the duke.

"So I've been told," he replied. "Bring me to her."

"Her location is a closely guarded secret at the moment. Do _you_ know where she is, Your Grace?"

"No, but you have the resources to find out."

* * *

 _Daybreak, Americian Eastern Time  
(Afternoon, Rhemuth Standard Time)  
A hotel room  
New Rhemuth, Americia  
December 16, 2021_

The man relaxed on the luxurious hotel bed, watching the news reports from across the Atalantic. His phone rang. A glance at the display revealed the caller to be his Camberian contact. He smiled as he answered the call.

"Hello! What do you think of the news reports?"

"It's a good start," the caller said. "That should shake things up a bit."

"I look forward to shaking things up some more."

The caller laughed. "All in good time, mate. All in good time."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

 _Afternoon  
A safe house somewhere near Rhemuth  
December 16, 2021_

The former Dr Formacek, now Queen Sophia II of Gwynedd, rested in a well-secured private residence in the countryside a short distance outside of Rhemuth. The room she took refuge in was luxurious nearly to the point of being palatial, and under different circumstances this might have stirred more curiosity in her about its owner, but she was still lost in a fog of private grief.

A knock sounded on the door. Michael Prior, her junior armsman, stirred from where he had nearly fallen asleep in his chair, but Henry Carlisle, the older of the two men who had been assigned to protect her as she carried out her medical duties, was the first to respond. A quiet exchange of words through the door, then Henry opened it to allow another man to enter. The well-dressed man carried a large tray of food, which he set down on a nearby table. Stepping forward and bowing deeply to Sophia, he asked, "Your Majesty, I had some changes of clothing selected for you while you were still sleeping. I hope the items will fit and will be to your liking; if not, I'll arrange for them to be exchanged for more suitable clothing. You'll find them in the chifforobe over there." He pointed out an impressive antique in one corner of the room. "Is there anything else I might bring you? Anything I might do?" As he addressed the new Queen, Michael slipped discreetly behind him to sample small portions of the food offerings, testing its safety before plating it for Sophia, Henry, and himself.

Sophia shook off her mental lethargy with an effort that was almost physical, forcing herself to respond. "Thank you. I can't think of . . . " A sudden thought occurred to her. She looked around the room, hoping to spot the item that had just sprung to mind, but if one was present, it was cleverly hidden behind some cabinet door or framed artwork. "You wouldn't happen to have a spare television set handy?"

The man-her host?-bowed again. "I could have one brought in, Ma'am, although I should warn you that if you plan on watching the news channels, I'm afraid you shall find the present coverage rather distressing."

She nodded. "I am certain I shall, yet I need to know what is happening."

"We could simply brief you on the latest updates, Ma'am," Henry interjected, a look of concern crossing his features.

Sophia wavered. It would be so tempting to go back to sleep, to allow her staff to coddle her and shield her from the worst of the horrors that she knew awaited her if she were to switch on the evening news broadcasts. But she was Queen of Gwynedd now, and as such, it was her responsibility to know what was happening in her kingdom. Mum would have wanted to know. She blinked back the tears that threatened at the thought of her mother. She needed to be strong now, no matter how very weak she felt on the inside.

"Thank you, but I wish to see for myself."

Henry recognized the resolute expression on the young queen's face; he had seen the same expression many times on her predecessor's features. With a quiet sigh, he turned back to the butler and nodded in acquiescence.

* * *

 _Early afternoon  
The Royal Astari Hotel  
City of Rhemuth  
December 16, 2021_

"Well, is that it, then?" Eilonwy Adams rolled Dr. Jennifer DeLisle's small suitcase over to the hotel room door as Jen finished gathering her toiletries. "You certainly travel light."

"I try. I wasn't sure how much of the trip I'd be making using conventional means of transportation, or if I'd need to use the public Portal system, but I didn't want to pack more than I could conveniently lug around in either case." Jen zipped up her carry-on bag and slung it over her shoulder. "So, back to your flat now, assuming we can get back there through the insane levels of traffic out there? Have you _looked_ out the window at this outbound traffic?"

"I thought I might make a side trip to Mum's town house in case she might be there and just has her phone ringer off," Eilonwy said. "She might know if there's any way to get a message to Sophia right now, or where she might be located. Besides, that would let us bypass some of the more congested streets."

Jen raised a dark brow. "Maureen has those sorts of connections?"

"I honestly don't know, but if she doesn't, it's likely Mr Astari does, and wherever Mum is, Peter Astari has a habit of turning up these days." Eilonwy gave her a wry smile.

Jen gave her a startled look. "Lady Maureen has started dating again?"

"Well, I don't know if I'd go _that_ far yet. But I think Mr Astari is hoping to talk her around to it eventually. He's certainly made no secret of his interest."

Jen pondered the idea for a moment. She wasn't sure why she was so surprised by the thought of Lady Maureen having a romantic life after Sir Will's death; Maureen was far from an old woman, after all. Of course other men would take an interest in an attractive-not to mention wealthy-widow who looked to be hardly into her middle years! But still, it felt a bit unsettling to think of some other man taking Will Sheehan's place in Maureen's life. "How do you feel about that?" she asked their daughter. "Do you like Mr Astari?"

Eilonwy shrugged. "He seems nice enough. He's certainly quite charming, although he's nothing at all like Da. I suppose it's Mum's choice, really, if she wants to get involved with someone else, but all the same, I hope she keep Peter hanging a bit longer." She gave Jen an impish grin. " _I'm_ not ready to have a dating mother yet."

"You could always set her up with one of Patrick's friends," Jen teased. "You told me just last night he knows several hot Deryni guys who are looking to be hooked up with Deryni brides . . . ."

Eilonwy laughed. "Shut up, you!"

Jen thought back over their conversation. "You said that Mr Astari probably has the necessary connections to help us find Sophia. What does he do, besides presumably own this hotel?" She looked around at the well-appointed hotel room she had booked before her arrival in Gwynedd. "Or is that a different branch of the family?"

"No, you're right. He owns this hotel, as well as the rest of the Astari chain throughout Gwynedd and in parts of the Forcinn Nations, not to mention several five-star restaurants in most of our major cities. He's only one of the wealthiest men in Gwynedd, love; where have you been all these years? And don't say 'languishing in Americia'!"

Jen laughed. "You know me: nose in a book, butt in a library chair, and my mind in the Kelsonian period. I don't suppose the Astaris owned an inn back then, did they?"

Eilonwy grinned. "It really wouldn't surprise me."

* * *

 _Early afternoon  
A pub near St. George's Square  
City of Rhemuth  
December 16, 2021_

Father Devlin sat toying with his half-eaten Carthmoor pasty and nursing a pint at his customary table in the corner of his local as he thought back on the discussion earlier that morning at the Camberian Council meeting. The pub was unusually full, given the time of day, and no wonder, with most businesses closed for the day-if not the entire week-due to the national emergency. A motion at the door caught his eye, and he looked up to see a man enter. The man spoke briefly to the pub owner, then looked over his shoulder, caught Devlin's eye, and walked towards him. He stopped at the priest's table, flipping his wallet open to reveal police ID. "Do you have a few minutes to talk, Father O'Shiele?" the man asked. Despite the polite phrasing, Devlin was fairly sure that the query was not a request for his clerical services, nor was it even so much a request as a courteously worded demand.

Devlin cast a quick glance around the room. Although it was yet early, too late for most of the lunchtime customers but too early for the regular evening crowd, there were more witnesses to their quiet exchange than there normally might have been, including a few faces he recognized from his St. George Street mission, watching the encounter with expressions ranging from mild curiosity to barely disguised fear. Interesting, that. He restrained the impulse to send a questing mental probe in that direction, instead turning his attention back to the police officer with a smile. "Not here, Detective Inspector . . . Adams, is it? My office would be more private. It's about halfway down the block and around the corner."

The detective's eyes did a quick scan of the room before lighting on the priest once more. He flashed a quick smile in return. "Sounds good. You lead the way, Father."

Father Devlin stood. He exited the pub, stopping only to pay for his meal on the way out, and turned down a narrow street that was one of the city's oldest paved roads, built many centuries earlier when the whole of Rhemuth was contained within the confines of the tall city walls which now remained in only certain areas of the downtown perimeter, historical curiosities and scenic attractions for the tourist trade. Here and there the asphalt was worn through, showing hints of the original cobblestones underlying St George Street. The Cathedral loomed large in the distance behind the two pedestrians, surrounded by crowds of shocked mourners, with portable screens that had been erected above crowd level sometime earlier in the day to display government announcements interspersed with endless news coverage about the Castle attack, the Royal Family, and the national outpourings of grief, but Devlin's steps led the pair in the opposite direction, nearly a block closer to the section of city wall and the ancient gate visible at the other end of the street. He turned down a side street, making for a large brick building built sometime in the previous century. "Almost there," he told the detective, pointing out the building's entrance. "Inside, up the stairs and to the left."

Devlin led the detective inspector up a short series of steps to a doorway that looked surprisingly clean and well maintained despite the nearly ubiquitous grime that seemed to permeate most of the neighborhood. Inside, the entryway admitted a view of an interior that seemed at least to be tidy, if a little dated and shabby. A delicious aroma drifted towards the front rooms from someplace out of sight down the main hallway of the ground floor. The priest gave an appreciative sniff and called out, "Smells lovely, Maggie!"

A stout woman with her hair bound in a kerchief emerged from what was likely the building's kitchen, holding a wooden spoon slightly aloft in one hand while wiping the other hand on her linen apron. "Thank you, Father. It's the Fallonese sauce for the pasta we'll be having at tea. Will you be coming back downstairs to join the lads for the meal or taking yours up in your rooms tonight?" Noticing the visitor standing next to Father Devlin, she gave him a bright smile. "Have we an extra guest at table this evening?"

Devlin gave the detective an inquiring glance. Detective Inspector Adams answered with a wistful sigh. "I'm afraid not; my wife will be waiting supper on me, and we've a house guest as well. Though it does smell wonderful. Thank you for asking."

"Another night, then," Maggie responded before turning her attention back to Devlin. "Father, Mr Carter stopped in with an estimate for the roof repairs; I've set the memo on your desk. Mrs Royce came by with a donation of used clothing and to dangle her daughter in front of you again; I took the donation but said she needn't wait, as I had no idea when you'd be back and it might be quite late. And a James Arilan asked if you could ring him when you get a free moment. He didn't say what it was about. He said he'd tried your mobile earlier but couldn't get a ring tone."

The features that had expressed momentary amusement at the mention of the summarily dismissed matchmaker and her dangled daughter shifted in mid-spiel to speculative curiosity, but Devlin simply nodded as Maggie finished her recitation. "Thank you. We'll be upstairs for a bit, although to answer your earlier question, I'll be down for tea later."

* * *

 _A town house in Kingsmeade  
Southwest of downtown Rhemuth  
December 16, 2021_

Maureen greeted her daughter and her late husband's protegée with a warm smile before enfolding Jen in a maternal embrace. "I don't get one of those?" Eilonwy joked as Maureen pulled back to allow both young women into her home.

"I see _you_ all the time, dear," Maureen teased back. Her smile evaporated a moment later. "I saw Patrick on the news earlier this morning. He looked tired."

Eilonwy nodded. "He's been working all night ever since his Chief called him in just after the Castle attack. I imagine he'll be straight off to bed after supper tonight, then back on the job first thing tomorrow until the case is closed, or at least until they run out of fresh leads." She took a deep breath. "Actually, that's sort of why we're here. Related reasons, that is, not necessarily looking for a fresh lead for Patrick, although if one happens to turn up while you're looking . . . ."

Maureen studied her daughter's face, then Jen's. "You want me to look for Sophia," she guessed.

"Could you?" Eilonwy asked, hope in her eyes. "We've been trying to text her all last night and today, but there's been no answer. I know she's probably in some safe house-Paddy may even know where it is, for that matter, not that he'd be authorized to tell me-but the thing is, I don't think she's ever had any arcane protections activated, and . . . well . . . ."

"And you two thought she might trust you enough to allow you to help her through the empowerment ritual?" Maureen supplied. _Peter, your instructions at Council this morning may be easier for me to carry out than either of us dreamed, and perhaps without me even having to mention the Camberian Council's interest,_ she thought to herself, carefully shielding the thought from the two younger women. "That would certainly be worth a try, if I can find her. However, her security team has surely got anti-scrying measures in place," she cautioned.

"Oh, we know," Jen said. "We tried that first. But Loni says that what you do isn't quite the same thing as scrying."

"No, it's a rarer gift," Maureen acknowledged, "but they may have protective wards against it as well. Still, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to try." She led the two upstairs. "You've not seen my new town house, have you, Jen? I have an in-house studio now." Maureen opened a door to reveal an upper room with a large window at one end. Bright sunlight illuminated several colorful canvases. She walked past these to grab a sketchbook and some colored pencils instead of paints and brushes.

The three women settled down at a small table near the window. Maureen flipped open the sketchbook, lightly sketching in an oval shape and adding a few guide lines. "Do either of you happen to have anything with you that used to belong to Her Majesty? Or at least a photo of her, perhaps?"

Eilonwy skimmed through the photo gallery stored in her smartphone until she came upon a photo that was several years old in her downloads folder. "Here, I downloaded this one from my online photo archive last night," she told her mother, handing her the phone.

Three young university students looked up from the screen image at Maureen. Eilonwy stood on the left and Jennifer stood on the right. Between them, her arms casually looped around the shoulders of the young women flanking her, was a younger, more carefree Princess Sophia, her lips parted in a laugh and her raven hair ruffled by a light breeze. Maureen began to sketch, concentrating on this central figure. After a few moments, she closed her eyes, allowing her inner Sight to guide her pencil's strokes.

* * *

 _St. George Street Mission  
Father Devlin's rooms  
City of Rhemuth  
December 16, 2021_

Detective Inspector Patrick Adams swept a curious glance around the priest's personal rooms as Father Devlin motioned him toward a worn yet comfortable-looking sofa. Like the rooms downstairs, this private area looked well used but also well tended. Papers piled on a nearby desk hinted at a somewhat less disciplined side to the man before him, yet even the arrangement of those showed some haphazard attempt at a semblance of order. A small table nearby might have been a shrine, perhaps even a prie-dieu of sorts if the small, padded footstool tucked away beneath it was any indication. A lace-edged linen table runner covered the table's surface, and on top of that were what appeared to be an imported tryptich (Torenthi iconography, by the look of it, although his dossier on the priest had shown him to be a man of Gwyneddan high church sensibilities rather than Eastern in his faith tradition) with an unlit votive candle before it. On an end table beside the sofa, a few framed photos were arranged. One showed a much younger Devlin O'Shiele flanked by a couple that Patrick surmised must be his parents, one appeared to be a candid shot taken of him at his ordination, and the third showed him in formal attire smiling down into the starry-eyed gaze of a young woman in a wedding dress. Odd. Patrick didn't remember any mention of a wife in Father O'Shiele's file, although granted, the information he had quickly pulled up and reviewed before heading out on this call had consisted primarily of recent information. It wasn't unusual for priests in the Church of Gwynedd to marry, of course-this was hardly Bremagne, after all, nor the Middle Ages, and Gwyneddan priests had been permitted to marry since the 1300s-but normally those sorts of details tended to turn up in a personal background check, no matter how cursory. On the coffee table lay an open Bible, beneath which a few scrawled notes on notepaper peeked out.

"Sermon outline?" Patrick asked, indicating the handwritten pages as he took a seat.

"Meeting notes, actually," Devlin replied as he took a seat in the wingback chair opposite him. "So, how may I be of assistance?"

Patrick flipped open his tablet's keyboard cover and logged on. "Mind if I record this interview, Father?"

"Go right ahead."

"As you've probably surmised, I'm here as part of the investigation into the attack on the Royal Family. I'd like to ask you more about the events leading up to your report yesterday evening, in case there are any additional details you might remember now that might be helpful." He tapped an app on the tablet. "Sixteen December, twenty-twenty-one. DI Adams, Patrick Traherne, interviewing O'Shiele, Father Devlin Mihall. Father, would you confirm your consent to record this interview?"

The priest, looking somewhat self-conscious, leaned forward slightly over the tablet. "Confirmed."

"Thank you. Now, in regard to the report that you called in to the Anti-Terrorism Division on the evening of Fifteen December, I believe you originally stated that you were called to the bedside of a young man who was dying."

"That is correct . . . . "

As Devlin spoke, Patrick automatically began to Truth-Read him. The clash of shield against shield came as a shock to both. The priest's voice trailed off as Patrick shook off his momentary startlement. He tapped the Stop icon on the recording app before leaning back with a surprised laugh.

"You're Deryni, Father?"

* * *

 _Maureen's home studio, Kingsmeade  
Southwest of downtown Rhemuth  
December 16, 2021_

Jennifer DeLisle stared at the image taking shape on the paper before her, fascinated. Maureen, eyes still closed, added a series of deft strokes to an object in the background, further defining it. Beside Jen, Eilonwy also studied the drawing intently.

Jen picked up another sheet of paper, the first of several that Maureen had hastily sketched and then torn from her notebook only to begin another as a quick succession of images processed through her consciousness. In this sketch, Sophia's frightened features stared back at her from what appeared to be an office, possibly at the Royal Hospital given the young woman's medical attire. She was seated, an older man bent solicitously over her while a younger man appeared to be speaking to someone in a lab coat. There was a clock on the wall. Jen noted the time on the clock. Shortly after the attack on the Castle, then; no more than half an hour afterwards, if she remembered the exact time of the explosion correctly according to the news reports.

The second sketch showed Sophia, her expression vacant with shock, curled into a tight ball on the rear seat of a private car driven by the older man seen in the previous drawing. The younger man sat beside the new queen, eyes focused outside the window as if maintaining a wary vigil against unseen threats. There was a sign atop a tall building in the background skyline. Jen had seen it before, but just at that moment she couldn't place it.

She reached for the third sketch. It was more baffling than the first two. The car was someplace outside of the city, but possibly not too far outside of it. There were signs of habitation in the distance-the rooflines of a small village in a shallow valley-but the car's exact destination was shrouded in a fog. What could be dimly glimpsed appeared to be the vague outline of a house overlooking the valley . . . no, that didn't do it justice. More like a mansion, really, or at least far more palatial than any home Eilonwy had ever lived in aside from Ballymar, and she was a duke's granddaughter. Could it be one of the royal residences? No, doubtful. Judging from the darkness of the sky surrounding the scene, they had arrived late at night or very early in the morning. Sophia hadn't fled to Valoret or Coroth, then, or if that was her eventual destination, she and her guards had stopped at a temporary refuge along the way. At any rate, whatever refuge she had found was undoubtedly owned by a Deryni. That was no natural fog-Maureen's Sight would have easily penetrated that. The property was evidently warded.

So the question was, how many wealthy Deryni lived within a quick driving distance of Rhemuth? And which one had Sophia entrusted with her life?

* * *

 _Later in the afternoon  
Tre-Arilan  
A short distance west of Rhemuth  
December 16, 2021_

James Arilan arrived home via the same Transfer Portal he'd departed from earlier in the day. With him was Morgan Haldane, the Duke of Corwyn. Tom Whitfield looked away from the data mining he'd been doing in the Camberian Council's genealogical archives, standing to greet the new arrivals. A raised, shaggy eyebrow was his sole reaction to his host's new guest. "Took you long enough to get back," he told James. With a respectful bow of his head towards the duke, he added, "I trust you are well enough to be out and about, Your Grace?"

"The hospital discharge process is a pain in the arse, and James didn't have a spare Portal in his back pocket, nor did it seem quite circumspect to return through the hospital's public Portal, so we had to get back here via the Cathedral sacristy. _After_ making our way through half the population of Gwynedd crowding the streets, James dragging me into some alley to cast a glamour on me to prevent me being recognized, and spending the past half hour listening to the Archbishop dither over arranging suitable memorials for inconveniently vaporized Royals and angsting over whether or not I've died yet, although at least _that_ issue kept his mind off his usual diatribe about scheduled hours of use," Morgan groused, ignoring Tom's question. He looked around the room. "Impressive setup, Arilan." Turning his attention back to Tom, he asked, "I'm sorry, have we met?" He extended a hand. "Morgan Haldane."

"Our paths have crossed on occasion, but I don't believe we've ever been properly introduced. Pleased to meet you, Your Grace," Tom replied, grasping the offered hand in a firm handshake. "Tom Whitfield."

"My apologies," James interjected. "I had thought you two already knew each other. Tom, if you'll excuse us, I think His Grace could use a bit of extra bed rest before he assumes regular activities." At Morgan's glare, he added "Healer's orders." An almost beatific smile crossed James' face as Morgan's glare grew even stormier. "Trust me, if you think my undercroft is impressive, you'll absolutely love what I've got upstairs."

* * *

 _St. George Street Mission  
Father Devlin's rooms  
City of Rhemuth  
December 16, 2021_

"You're Deryni?" Detective Inspector Patrick Adams grinned, looking oddly elated.

"Yes," Father Devlin replied, baffled and somewhat amused by the detective's reaction. "The Statutes of Ramos were repealed centuries ago, you know. Since apparently you're Deryni too, I presume this isn't a problem for you . . . ?"

"No!" Patrick laughed. "I'm sorry. It's just . . . Sweet Saint Camber, I'm exhausted!" He gave the priest a sheepish smile of apology. "We've been working this case throughout the night, see, every last man and woman in the division, hoping to catch any leads while they're still fresh. I'd just got home yesterday from a long shift, had just enough time for a wee visit and a bite to eat when the attack took place and I got called right back in. I figured this interview was likely to last a good half hour or so done the standard way, before I could get back to the station, fill in whatever poor sods got sent home for a brief nap before relieving my shift, then drag my weary bum back home to a quick meal, my wife, and my bed-and not necessarily in that order!" Devlin gave him a sympathetic chuckle and nodded. Patrick sighed and continued, "But since we're both Deryni, would you mind too terribly much if we just dispense with the formal interview and do this the quick and easy way?"

"You're asking if I'd mind letting you Mind-See what happened last night?" Devlin asked.

"Yes. I hope it's not too impertinent to ask, but it would give me a much clearer idea of what happened than any interview could. I'd hate to think we might miss some key detail because I didn't ask the right questions, or you didn't realize something might be relevant to our investigation."

"Part of what I disclosed last night was information gained under the seal of the confessional. I had permission to disclose that information, but I don't believe that permission extends to disclosing the identity of the informant."

"You have my solemn word I won't probe for any more information than you would willingly share."

The priest studied the detective for a long moment, then his lips twitched in a suppressed smile. "I should hope not; I wouldn't fancy being Mind-Ripped!"

Patrick looked startled. "No, I simply meant . . . !" Another twitch of Devlin's lips clued him in that he was being teased. He shook his head. "Damn it, Father, have mercy on a man!"

* * *

 _Later in the afternoon  
Tre-Arilan  
A short distance west of Rhemuth  
December 16, 2021_

Tom Whitfield scoured through the list of names that had come up in his search of the Camberian Council's genealogical banks. He had spent the earlier part of the afternoon compiling the list, keeping in mind the criteria discussed in Council earlier that morning, excluding no possibilities, however unlikely. In the past hour (and several cups of Arilan's amazing blend of coffee later, for which he had the attentive Mr Carbury to thank), he had been cross-referencing these names with every source he could think of. What motive would a Deryni have for assisting a human supremacy organization, or was it possible that Father O'Shiele was completely off track with his suspicions and that the shadowy "Eric" mentioned in the dying penitent's confession was a different Eric altogether, wholly unconnected with Humanity Ascendant? Or was his gut hunch correct?

Father O'Shiele's gut hunches usually were, especially when supported by outside sources as the priest claimed, but knowing that was of little help to Tom, since a human supremacist/Deryni connection merely added another wrinkle to the mystery. If such a connection did exist, then why? The benefit for the terrorist organization was clear; they needed access to the Rhemuth Castle Transfer Portal. A human couldn't get through the Portal alone, and given the outcome for the bomber-who was most likely the first person killed in the blast-going through the Portal alongside the Deryni may have been the last thing in their plans. But what benefit would there be for the Deryni, especially one who must have at least suspected that he or she would never get out alive? Fear? Unlikely, unless it was fear for someone else. There, that was one possibility. Financial gain? Again, the Deryni infiltrator could hardly have hoped to benefit from that, unless the windfall had been paid well in advance. But no, if money was the motive, the most likely beneficiary would not have been the infiltrator, but that person's family.

What other possible motives might there have been? Love, perhaps? One of the strongest motivations ever, yet that didn't seem to fit. A Deryni so in love with a person who hates his kind that he'd make the ultimate sacrifice? For what reason? Or was this a case of unrequited love...that could be it, perhaps someone who had been romantically involved with one of the Royal Family and been rebuffed. Might someone seeking revenge for a relationship gone sour have joined forces with unlikely allies also seeking to bring their royal adversaries down?

Tom shook his head. There was a piece missing here, but God alone knew what it was. God and perhaps modern journalism. When it came to poking through other people's financial records or shadowy Internet trails, James was the expert there. No, recent news reports would be easier to cross-reference with the list of names he was searching for. Crime reports, missing persons, society gossip pages-those sources might provide the missing piece of the puzzle.

He could only hope. And hope he found it quickly, for his gut instincts told him that time was running out. For whom, or for what reason, he had no clue yet. But he hoped to find one soon.

* * *

 _Early morning, Camberian Standard Time  
(Afternoon, Rhemuth Standard Time)  
A private home  
St. Michael's Province, Camberia  
December 17, 2021 (December 16, 2021 in Gwynedd)_

"What about the child?" The caller pictured his Gwyneddan pawn sitting in the lap of luxury in his fancy Americian hotel, thinking he was pulling all the strings, that he had gained an ally in his war against the Deryni race. Idiot! Although there was one loose end that the man held, and it was this loose end which concerned him now.

"What about him?" The voice on the other end of the line sounded completely indifferent. "He'll die, I suppose. Not my concern. He's served his purpose."

The caller's lips tightened. He should have realized that the human would be unconcerned over the fate of a Deryni, although he'd hoped that the fact this particular Deryni was a young child would have been occasion for some modicum of compassion, however limited. Ah, well. Hopefully his allies in Gwynedd-true allies whom he could actually trust-would find the boy before it was too late. If not . . . well, every war had its collateral casualties. This one certainly would be no different. The end result was all that truly mattered.

"True enough, then. Well, I'm sure you must be jet lagged, so I'll let you get your rest. Ring me when you're up tomorrow and ready to discuss Phase Two."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

 _Late afternoon  
Tre-Arilan  
A short distance west of Rhemuth  
December 16, 2021_

"Carbury, could you prepare a guest room for His Grace's use?" Lord James Arilan requested as he and Duke Morgan Haldane emerged from the concealed stairs passage connecting the underground level of Tre-Arilan to the ground floor.

Carbury inclined his head respectfully towards both men before replying. "Already done, my lord. Mr Whitfield informed me earlier of the reason for your precipitous departure."

"And how is our other house guest?"

Morgan's eyes slanted towards James in surprise, his expression wary.

"As well as may be expected, my lord. Would you care to stop in on her?"

James nodded. "I think that would be for the best. Morgan, if you would come with me . . . ."

A blond eyebrow rose. "Are you certain that's wise? I'd prefer to keep a low profile, under the circumstances."

James laughed, and even the unflappable Carbury cracked a tiny smile. "Oh, trust me, under the circumstances I'm sure so would she."

A glimmer of suspicion blossomed into hope in Morgan's heart. "She?"

"Let's go see how your cousin is doing this evening, Your Grace. You _did_ ask to be brought to her, after all."

* * *

 _Early evening  
Tre-Arilan  
December 16, 2021_

It was hardly proper protocol to receive one's subject into the Royal Presence only to fall upon his neck sobbing, but just at that moment, Sophia really didn't care. Morgan Haldane's strong arms closed around her tightly, supporting her as she wept fresh tears of relief. She had thought herself unable to feel anymore, as numb to her grief as she had become over the past several hours, but she'd been wrong. The sight of her cousin walking through the door had opened the floodgates once more.

After a few minutes, however, the fresh storm of tears completely spent, Sophia pulled away. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean . . . . " Her voice trailed away as a sudden thought occurred. She jabbed a finger into his shoulder. " _You_ are supposed to be in hospital! All the news channels are saying you've got severe injuries!"

"Ow! I _shall_ have, if you keep poking at me like that!" Morgan sidestepped his indignant cousin, moving to sit on a nearby couch. "I've been Healed, so you can stop scolding. Besides, you're a doctor now, aren't you?"

"I am. Well, I _was._ " Sorrow shaded her expression once again.

Morgan snorted. "You still are, unless all your medical knowledge has somehow dribbled out your left ear in the past twenty-four hours. I just wouldn't advise going on house calls now. You'd send poor Henry and Michael into a tizzy, although just imagine all the patients going about bragging on how the Queen herself dropped by to treat their sciatica. Might be worth doing at least once just to hear the report about it on Rhemuth News 10."

Sophia chortled. It was more of a surprised bark than her customary hearty laugh, but it was the first flash of genuine humor that she'd felt since the beginning of the ordeal that had torn apart her life. She took a seat beside him. "Have you seen any of the news reports from the Castle yet?" she asked.

"I've hardly needed to, now have I? I was _there._ " He took her hand, sandwiching it between both of his to help still her trembling. "Why don't you share with me what they've been saying, though. Just a recap, mind; I don't need any more of the details stuck in my mind than I've already got. And I'll fill you in on anything I know about that they might have missed."

* * *

 _Early evening  
Royal Ministry of Investigations  
Anti-Terrorism Branch  
City of Rhemuth  
December 16, 2021_

Detective Inspector Adams had just turned in his last report and was putting on his coat to leave when his supervisor caught up with him. "Got a minute, Adams?"

 _Oh, blessed Saint Camber, what now?_ "Sir?"

"I know you're heading home for the evening-" Patrick suppressed a relieved sigh at the Chief's statement. "But Forensics has requested expedited testing on the DNA samples the field team were able to provide to the lab, so those results should be in some time tomorrow. Once they're in, I would like for you to sort through them, see if all of the identified individuals are on the Registered list or if there are any Unregistereds listed in the results."

"But sir, not all of the remains found at the blast site would have been Deryni."

"No, no, of course not. But it's a Deryni we're looking for, isn't it? A normal Human couldn't have passed through one of those . . . those Portal Transport things, now could he? So the lab is just sending over the results from samples which contained the Deryni-specific gene sequence. Or something to that effect. Ask the lab folks about the technobabble if that matters to you."

Patrick fought to retain his ebbing patience. "Sir, he may have been working with a Human. Humans can go through Transfer Portals if a Deryni brings them through. Or for that matter, some Humans have latent Potential that can be activated to give them Deryni-like powers."

The chief brushed off his comment. "Right, right, Forensics is checking on those too. I said _normal_ Humans, remember? Not Deryni Lite. We'll run a background check on any Human remains found, of course, but it's the Deryni I want you focused on. Can't have Unregistereds operating under our noses, can we? Out of sight, out of mind, eh? With powers like that, we need to make sure they keep their noses clean. If our guy's a Registered Deryni, then at least we'll have more to go on. We can find out who his family is, maybe his friends, see if any of them were involved in the plot. Could be they're all law-abiding subjects, but we need to be sure. And if he _is_ Unregistered, why then we'll definitely want to find out who he was to make sure none of the rest of his family slip through the cracks. Slippery as eels, Unregistereds." He mimed a swimming eel with one hand. "Don't want rogue Deryni infiltrating everywhere untracked. How would we ever head off a Deryni uprising if they ever took it into their heads to try something and we didn't have our eye on them all?"

 _Wow, I don't know. Maybe 'we' could head that sort of thing off by not acting like complete berks to begin with? Or maybe by actually treating Deryni like 'normal people' and not simply assuming we're all crazed criminals at heart, with the only thing keeping us in line being the watchful eye of nutters like you?_ Patrick forced a smile, profoundly grateful that Humans couldn't Mind-See or Mind-Read.

The Chief gave Patrick a comradely pat on the shoulder. "All right, then, off you go, Adams. Get some rest; I need you back at 0800 tomorrow. Tell the little missus Hello for me!"

"I shall, sir." _And give the furniture an extra dusting, would you, Eilonwy darling? There are devils under every doily tonight, apparently._

* * *

 _Early evening  
An office building  
Concaradine  
December 16, 2021_

"Is this a good time to talk?"

Caroline Whitfield frowned as she tried to identify the voice on the other end of the line. "I was just about to leave the office."

The man with the Camberian accent continued. "One sun sets, another sun rises."

"I beg your par-?" Something buried deep with Caroline's mind responded to the triggering phrase. "Oh!" She sat back down in her desk chair, her motions slow, as if in a trance.

"Do I have your full attention now?" The Camberian sounded vaguely amused.

"Yes, Your Grace." Caroline had the odd sensation of watching herself respond, as if she were dreaming about the call rather than actually experiencing it.

"Have you located the target yet?"

Caroline tried to think. The part of her that was fully herself had no idea what the caller meant by this, but the part that had taken over her body replied. "No, my lord. Not yet."

"Well, keep searching." The caller sounded displeased. "Surely your husband must know something of its whereabouts, as often as he goes there."

"He's only been there by Portal, my lord, so I doubt it. And aside from that, he's very well shielded. Even when we make love and our rapport is at its deepest, there are secrets he keeps secured from me." The submerged part of Caroline felt indignant at this revelation of her intimate life to this stranger, but she felt unable to resist answering his questions.

"There must be some way to find it! How difficult can it be to locate a bloody big purple dome stuck out on a mountain range?"

"It doesn't show up on satellite imagery, my lord. I'm certain it must be well warded."

The caller sounded like he was making a concerted effort to regain his calm. "That is hardly a surprise, now is it? Have you at least made some effort to identify which mountain range it is hidden in? Sent surveyors in on foot? Gone to look at the most likely locations yourself?"

"I haven't gone on hiking holidays for the past three years for the sheer love of the outdoors, Your Grace." Something of the Other Caroline's frustration leaked through to her dissociated self.

A long silence on the other end of the line, then he spoke again. "I'm afraid we have little choice, then. Time to activate the next step of the plan."

"The next step?"

"The eyrie must be laid bare."

"The eyrie?" The personality that was once Caroline Whitfield became completely submerged as the newly activated personality took over every vestige of her consciousness. "Of course, my love," she purred. "It will be my pleasure to serve you once again."

* * *

 _Evening  
Tre-Arilan, the undercroft  
December 16, 2021_

"Sorry I haven't been around to help much today," James Arilan told Tom Whitfield apologetically. "I was hardly expecting the afternoon to be so eventful. If you need to run on home, I can take things from here. Just fill me in on what you've got and I'll take over from there. Morgan's down for the night, I think, and if he needs anything, Carbury can attend to him." The lord of Tre-Arilan took a seat next to Tom at the computer station.

"I may have found something worth taking a closer look at," Tom told him, "although it would help if we had access to the forensics reports from the blast zone to see if what I suspect matches up with whatever evidence they've found. Particularly any DNA evidence. I don't suppose any of your contacts in that investigation would be able to get their hands on that report?"

"It's rather early for a full report, unfortunately," James answered, "although I'd bet my last mark that Alicia has managed to place herself in a good position to get access to those lab results, if she's not doing the actual lab work herself. Maybe she can update us at the Council meeting tomorrow."

Tom looked startled. "Peter's called another meeting for tomorrow?"

James shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of, though I'm about to."

Tom tilted his head at him, looking briefly puzzled, then his expression cleared. "Ah, yes. I imagine they'll want to be filled in on the Duke of Corwyn's survival. Did he remember anything that could prove of use to the investigation?"

"Possibly." James leaned back in his chair. "There may have been someone on the Castle premises who wasn't supposed to be permitted entry, or at least Morgan thought he caught a glimpse of such a person shortly before the bombing, but he was feeling unwell at the time and was on his way back to his rooms, so he didn't make the connection-if it _is_ an accurate recollection-until it was too late. Let's just say it would be really helpful to get a glimpse at that DNA report to see if his hunch bears any fruit. Now, let's see what you've managed to turn up. May I?" He reached for the stack of printouts in front of Tom.

Tom handed him the small stack. As James flipped through the pages, Tom summarized what he'd found. "Do you know anything about Sir Lloyd O'Malley?"

James searched his memory. "Minor gentry, lives somewhere near the Kheldish Riding?"

"Close. Marley."

"Ah. Go on."

"Well, he has been _persona non grata_ at Court of late. Something about embezzlement from the Royal Treasury, as I recall-he's an accountant-and him being summarily dismissed from his post, which flagged him for my short list to begin with. And then I found something something in last week's news that might have moved him to an even shorter list."

James raised an ebony eyebrow. "Sounds interesting, especially since that's the same man His Grace mentioned thinking he might have seen. What sort of something?"

Tom tapped on the bottom page of the stack James held. Turning to it, James saw a hard copy of an online news report from the _Marbury Herald._ "Local Child Missing," he read aloud. Below the headline was a child's photograph, captioned with the name "Colin O'Malley."

"Hm. And you're thinking perhaps some third party kidnapped the lad and was using him as leverage to get O'Malley to infiltrate the Castle with his deadly payload?"

"Perhaps. Or he might have had enough incentive to return of his own free will even without that, though I doubt it, given the stakes. It's a bit of a long shot, I know, but my gut says it bears a closer look."

James studied the child's face, nodding slowly. "Yes, I agree. I'm surprised the late Queen didn't have the gatehouse guards notified to keep O'Malley out of the Castle once he was sacked, though. Surely she would have? Or was he in the habit of showing up for work each day via the internal Transfer Portal? I don't imagine HM's security was so lax that they were allowing all the Deryni on staff to have access to that means of entry."

"That's the other thing. O'Malley has a tiny bit of Haldane blood several generations back on his mother's side. He's quite a distant relation; it's likely the Queen never knew of the connection. That would mean he could enter the castle either way, at least if he was aware of the Portal's existence.. My guess is that he normally took the public Portal system to arrive in Rhemuth every day, and walked into the Castle through the gatehouse like the rest of the staff, but remember, he worked at the Castle for several years. He may well have discovered the Transfer Portal during that time. HM considered the wards sufficient to keep intruders out, but I don't think she considered the need to guard against her own distant kindred."

"More's the pity. Yes, we definitely need to bring this information to the Council meeting tomorrow, as well as what Morgan had to share. And for that matter, my own little bit of news."

"I thought His Grace of Corwyn's survival _was_ your news?"

James's smile grew. "Part of my news, yes. But it's getting late; you'd best get home before your wife starts to worry about you. I'll fill you in on all the details at the Council meeting tomorrow morning."

* * *

 _Evening  
A flat near the University of Rhemuth  
16 December 2016_

"You look wiped out, love." Eilonwy served up some venison casserole onto her husband's empty plate. "It's early to bed for you tonight, I suspect."

Patrick smiled apologetically across the table at their house guest as he accepted the bowl. "I _am_ tired, but not too tired to hear about what you two ladies have been up to today. I take it you've been by the RA to pick up Jen's belongings?"

"We have," Eilonwy said, settling back onto her chair, "then we made a side trip to Mum's place as well, which by the way is how we happen to have venison for supper tonight. Her friend Mr Astari gave her more than she had room for in her freezer. At any rate, we thought she might be able to figure out where Soph-where Her Majesty might be in hiding right now, so that's where we've been most of the afternoon."

Patrick looked up from his forkful of casserole. "I can't imagine her guards would be in any mood to allow her to accept visitors just now, even if your Mum did happen to find her. Not until whoever was behind the Castle attack has been caught, or at the very least until Her Majesty can take up her duties under much higher security than she has had to date." He took a couple of bites before curiosity won out. " _Did_ she find her?"

"Well . . . ." Eilonwy glanced at Jennifer. "Jen, what did we do with those sketches?"

"They're in your living room. I'll get them." Jen left the dinner table briefly, returning a few moments later with several rolled up drawings. She unrolled them on the empty end of the table. "Now, this first one we're pretty sure is a depiction of her receiving the first news of the explosion. Notice the wall clock." At Patrick's nod, she continued. "This second one appears to show them during the drive out of Rhemuth. We think they might have been heading west but we're not entirely sure."

Patrick studied the drawing for a long moment. "Yes, I think you're right. If that tall building in the background is Westview Tower, then that would probably make this the M4 motorway heading out toward the Connait."

"The M4 . . . that's the one that follows roughly along the same path that the Great Western Road did nearly a millennium ago, isn't it?" Jen asked, turning to Eilonwy.

Eilonwy shrugged. "Your area of expertise, not mine. But there _was_ an ancient road along that same route, I do know that much. I suppose I can look it up easily enough in the historical archives once I'm back at work, though we haven't received the all-clear to reopen yet."

"And you won't," said Patrick, "until we're certain that area of the City is secure. The Royal Library is too close to the Castle for us to clear it yet, not to mention the Lord Mayor has declared a state of emergency for the time being, so all non-essential public services or tourist attractions within a mile of the Castle walls will be closed through the end of the week at least."

"There's always the Internet," Jen said. "That still works, for better or for worse." She unrolled the third drawing. "What do you make of this one, Patrick?"

Patrick glanced at the third drawing, then did a double-take. He drew it across the table to study it more closely, his meal forgotten. After a moment, he began to laugh. Jen and Eilonwy exchanged glances across the table.

"That's _not_ one of our official safe houses," Patrick finally managed, "and the Chief is going to blow a gasket when he finds out, since this was _not_ in any of our contingency plans! Not that I'll be the one to tell him." He lifted another mouthful of casserole to his lips, savoring it slowly before looking back up at them with a grin. "I can't tell you where that is-that is, I _could,_ but I'm not at liberty to say-but trust me, she's probably safer there than she would be any other place I can think of! That home is practically a fortress." He shook his head, chuckling. "Bloody brilliant, that plan. He must have pulled both rank _and_ title to arrange for her safekeeping personally."

"Who did?" Eilonwy asked.

Patrick shook his head again. "Probably best if I don't say, at least for now, unless he says I might. But if you want to see Her Majesty, then once things calm down a bit I might be able to arrange for that after all."

* * *

 _Nightfall  
Tre-Arilan  
December 16, 2021_

"Lord Arilan, I want to thank you for all you've done on my behalf and His Grace my cousin's," Sophia of Gwynedd said to her host. "Mr Carbury has been most helpful as well."

"You're very welcome, Your Majesty. Have you and His Grace of Corwyn had an opportunity yet to record a public announcement that you are both alive and well? I believe Carbury was planning to set up something of the sort earlier today."

"We have, and Mr Carbury has already arranged for it to be delivered to the designated officials. It should appear on tonight's news. Lord Arilan, I . . . My memory of last evening is rather fuzzy, I'm afraid, but I believe there was some change to the original contingency plan?"

Lord James Arilan nodded. "Yes, Her Late Majesty had approved the original contingency plan three years ago, when Sir Jeremy MacArdry was Chief of the Defense Ministry. After his death, there have been certain changes in the hierarchy which I found to be . . . somewhat concerning."

"How so, my lord?" Sophia took a sip of her darja tea while awaiting James's response.

"Some of the men in the top ranks of the Ministry have, shall we say, almost medieval views about the Deryni race. Well, maybe not _quite_ medieval-there's been no talk of burnings at the stake or anything ridiculous like that, of course-but their notions on how to "regulate" Deryni and the use of arcane powers are restrictive in the extreme. Last year, Chief Superintendent Edmund Arnold decided of his own initiative, without consulting with Her late Majesty first, to make certain changes in the contingency plan, including a reliance on chiefly human means of ensuring security. His stated reason was that he feared for her safety in the case of a Deryni uprising. Now granted, his officers are well trained in their duties, and against a purely human attack force, I have little doubt that their protection would be quite effective, but against a Deryni attacker they would be less so, and in the case of an _actual_ Deryni uprising, with multiple Deryni coordinating their efforts against the Crown-not that I think the House of Haldane is in much danger of that in any case-it would be pretty useless. Once I discovered what he had done, I took the liberty of arranging alternate plans privately with Her Late Majesty's personal guard, which they implemented only after consulting with The Queen herself. So your being here today is not exactly 'by the book,' so to speak, but this plan did have your mother's approval. Your armsman Henry will affirm that, if you wish."

"He already has, but thank you for that assurance." The young queen smiled at her rescuer in gratitude.

James returned her smile before continuing. "In yesterday's terrorist attack, despite the rumors that Humanity Ascendent might have been behind the plot, I suspect it goes deeper than that, and that we are up against someone-or possibly several persons-who are well versed in arcane means of attack as well as the more usual variety. If so, I very much doubt they would be willing to play by the rules in challenging your right to reign. So one of our first priorities needs to be to do something about that."

"There are _rules_ to challenging Our reign?" Sophia raised an inquiring eyebrow, fully unconscious of her instinctive adoption of the royal We.

James, however, did notice, and quietly approved the new queen's tacit acceptance of her hereditary mantle of rulership. "There are indeed, Ma'am, at least when it comes to Duels Arcane. Fortunately, you carry the lineage of both the Haldanes and the Von Horthys. You should have access to quite formidable powers of your own, once we have an opportunity to activate them. That should help make you much more resistant to attacks, whether they be mundane or arcane, in a formal challenge or by less honorable means."

Sophia gave her host a wry smile. "Forgive me, James, if I am unable to conceive of _any_ honorable means by which someone might attempt to be rid of me. I'm sure it's a mere failure of my imagination." She finished the last of the darja in her cup, setting it aside before steeping her fingers and studying him over the tips of them. "So, what is involved in this 'activation' you speak of?"

James returned her careful perusal. "How much did your mother teach you about ritual magic?"

She gave a rueful laugh. "I'm afraid I learned more about magic-ritual or otherwise-from the Royal Library's book collection and the Internet than I did from my mother. She was quite leery of her own powers, I think, let alone anyone else's. I think if anything, she thought of them as a necessary . . . well, not _evil,_ I don't suppose. At least I certainly never heard her say anything to make me believe she thought there was something actually _wrong_ with using Deryni powers, or with our Deryni heritage. And certainly she had at least a layman's understanding of the science behind those powers. If she never learned to embrace them herself, I think it was just that she felt uncomfortable with the whole notion of using her powers. It wasn't just that, though; it was anything that didn't come naturally for her and might require a learning curve." She glanced around James' home office. While not equipped with the same level of technology as his computer station in the hidden undercroft, the room still boasted several pieces of equipment that were close enough to top-of-the-line. "My mother was a bit of a technophobe as well. It took me forever to talk her into carrying a flip phone. I think she finally caved in about two years ago, by which time it was difficult to even find her one in a decade when most mobile carriers only keep them in stock for twelve-year-olds and grannies."

James sighed. "Yes, believe me, I know. We had running battles when it came to security upgrades as well. What about you, though? Are you more willing to move beyond your comfort zone to try new things than your mother was? Your life could well depend on that, you realize."

"Yes, well, that does tend to increase one's motivation, doesn't it? So back to my question, _my lord._ About this activation ritual . . . ?"

"Yes, about that." He took a few moments to think the question through. "The Haldane empowerment ritual tends to vary a bit from generation to generation, but the basic elements remain essentially the same. In most cases the ruling King-or in more recent history, the ruling Queen-set up the particular requirements for the empowerment of his or her heir." He gave her an uncertain look. "If your mother had done that for you-or at least for your brother-where might she have left those instructions?"

Sophia looked uncertainly back. "I'm not sure. Quite likely in her will, or at least stored in the same place, with the rest of her important papers. That would have been in her safe in the Queen's Tower, which means if it's not been buried under tons of rubble, it's likely been turned to ash now. Or both. Her solicitor might have had a duplicate copy made."

"Which would be at his office in the City Center?" James asked hopefully.

"No, more likely kept in his alternate office in King's Tower. Don't tell me, that's gone too?"

"Pretty nearly so, yes. It's still standing, but it sustained enough structural damage to make it unsafe to enter until the walls can be shored up, and it suffered a fair bit of fire and smoke damage as well."

"Is there _any_ part of my castle left standing, James?"

"Well . . . . " James gave the question some thought. "The lower bailey and Saint Camber's Basilica were completely undamaged, and the uppermost portion where the Chapel Royal and administrative offices are, on the opposite side of the Great Hall from the palace apartments, was sheltered from most of the blast by the Great Hall itself. The side of the Hall facing the blast sustained some structural damage, and of course all of the windows have shattered, but it could possibly be restored in time-the structural engineers are still squabbling a bit about what needs to come down and what can be rebuilt safely. Oh, and the Portal chamber in the old library is completely intact. The rest of the tower _above_ it received a great deal of fire and smoke damage, mind, but those Portal wards were damn strong."

"The Portal Chamber." Sophia shook her head slowly. "Great. I'll just pitch a tent in there for my first Court. It's a good thing my great-grandfather had the foresight to install modern plumbing in the old garderobe." She sighed. "Tell me, James, if we don't find these instructions you're looking for left for us by my mother, what's our next course of action? Or am I simply screwed?"

"No, no, we can still work around that. It's just that finding such instructions would make our job easier. Now, if one or more of the traditional insignia of the Haldane line have gone missing, we might need to do a fair bit more improvisation."

"Which traditional insignia would those be?" Sophia asked warily.

"Those would be the Haldane Ring of Fire, the Crimson Lion and the Eye of Rom."

There was a long silence, then the young queen quietly asked, "And what exactly are those?"

* * *

 _Night  
A private residence on the outskirts of Concaradine  
December 16, 2021_

"You're home late, darling. Have you eaten?" Caroline Whitfield greeted her husband as he entered their home and bent over her chair for a quick kiss.

"I had a quick snack on the way, though I may raid the fridge a bit later if there's any supper left over."

"What kept you?" she asked.

"Oh, I had a spot of business that came up," Tom said evasively, "and ended up needing to make a quick trip over to Rhemuth. By the time I could get away, the public Portal network was congested, so I decided to kill an extra hour grabbing a quick bite before heading back to Concaradine."

"Ah. Depositions for a new court case?"

"Sweetheart, you know I can't discuss my work with you." Tom settled into his favorite chair.

"I imagine Rhemuth must be rather a madhouse right now, in the wake of the bombing," Caroline observed.

Tom snorted. "Well, the outbound traffic was definitely heavier than usual, though there was not so much traffic entering in. The bus and Underground systems were actually far less packed than usual today, given how many schools, businesses, and government offices remained closed all day. And of course the surface streets within a quarter mile perimeter of the Castle were closed to all but emergency traffic." He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the high back of the recliner. "Enough about that, though. How was your day?"

Caroline stood, crossing the few feet between them to settle onto his lap. "Hm. Boring, but it's shown a definite improvement in the last couple of minutes." As Tom's eyes reopened and he closed his arms around her, she smiled up at him. "I have a surprise for you, darling."

"Oh?" Despite his weariness, his features brightened at her statement. "What sort of surprise?"

She disengaged herself gently, rising to her feet. With a beckoning smile, she added, "Come upstairs with me and see."

"Hm. That sounds promising." Tom also stood, following his wife up the stairs and down the short corridor that led to their bedroom. As she crossed the threshold, she shed her blouse, casually tossing it to one side. He chuckled. "I think I like this surprise. Maybe I should come home late more often."

Her bra followed suit moments later. Reaching behind her, she fumbled with the back closure to her skirt before perching on the side of their bed. "Want to help me with this, love?" she purred.

Tom needed little encouragement. He closed the distance between them, eagerly reaching for her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down towards the soft surface of the bed. He felt a slight scratch beneath one ear, but disregarded it in his haste to remove what little remained of Caroline's clothing. Hot kisses scorched his skin, and his face felt flush with rising excitement and what seemed an unnaturally high temperature for a mid-December evening.

"The house is roasting, sweetheart! Would you mind if I-"

Tom's knees buckled. His voice caught in his throat before he could complete his sentence. Too late, his sense of self-preservation kicked in, his Deryni instincts attempting to override the toxin spreading through his system, but to no avail.

His mind, however, still worked, and although his ability to focus his powers was fading swiftly, still he managed one final question via Mind-Speech. _Caroline, why?_

She shoved him off her, rising gracefully to retrieve her shed clothing. "The name's not Caroline, darling," she told him, her Camberian accent more highly pronounced than usual. "I've always hated that bloody name!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

 _Early Morning  
St. George Street Mission, Rhemuth  
Father Devlin's flat  
December 17, 2021_

Father Devlin stirred in his sleep as his phone trilled at him from his nightstand. As the insistent tone continued, he fumbled for it, opening bleary eyes to see who the caller was before answering.

"Hello, James." He yawned. "Do you have _any_ concept of time?" Devlin looked out the window at the dark sky. Any glimpses of impending dawn remained stubbornly hidden.

"Do you have any concept of returning calls?" James Arilan shot back.

"Returning . . . ." A brief flash of memory of the housekeeper's recap of his messages earlier the previous afternoon came back to him. "Oh, sorry. Busy day, as you can no doubt imagine, what with everything that's going on right now. What's up?"

"I have a lady here in great need of pastoral care, and as you happen to be a priest . . . ."

Father Devlin struggled to sit up. "Another one of your dates gone disastrously wrong, James?"

Lord Arilan gave a short laugh. "Stop being a git and get over here, would you? I'll explain once you're here."

* * *

 _Shortly after dawn  
Tre-Arilan  
December 17, 2021_

"I'm so very sorry to interrupt your sleep, Father. I hate to be a bother, it's just . . . I've hardly been able to sleep at all either, what with the nightmares . . . ."

Father Devlin sat facing the young woman, still feeling a bit dazed to find himself in the presence of Gwynedd's new Queen. At the moment, though, she looked far more vulnerable than queenly as she curled up in a corner of the sofa, looking more like a forlorn child than the head of state of a kingdom. It was that lost expression that tugged at Devlin's heart, reminding him that regardless of her royal birthright she was just as human as he (Deryni traits notwithstanding), and with the same needs and fears as the rest of humanity.

"I suppose . . . " he began hesitantly, "that you being a doctor, you've already tried the usual remedies for falling asleep? Warm milk, chamomile tea, perhaps some melatonin? I'm sure Carbury has something of the sort on hand. Don't know if he's got anything stronger, or if anything of that sort would require a prescription."

"Yes, I've tried the home remedies, and no, I don't want to take anything that might make me groggy. I need to be able to think clearly. Just not non-stop at two in the morning." Sophia gave him a tired smile.

"What sort of thoughts are keeping you awake?" _Stupid question, under the circumstances!_ he thought to himself, but continued on. "Perhaps it would help to just talk about them."

She closed her eyes, her arms hugging her knees to her chest. "I know my family probably never felt a thing, that it was just over in a second for them . . . well, except for Stefanie, but I'm told she was in a coma, so I doubt she ever knew what happened either, and I know they're in a better place now-I _know_ all that-but I don't care, I just want them _here_ . . . ."

The Queen burst into sobs. Father Devlin hesitated only briefly before getting up to join her on the sofa.

* * *

 _Morning  
The Whitfield Residence  
A suburb outside of Concaradine  
December 17, 2021_

The woman Tom had known as Caroline checked her victim's vital signs. Good. They were strong-his heartbeat regular, albeit a little rapid, and his breathing somewhat shallower than normal, although both symptoms were consistent with the anxiety he was probably feeling due to being trapped in a paralyzed body and unable to speak. She tried a shallow mental probe to check his mind function. Yes, he was alert-she thought he was, but with his eyes frozen open in that transfixed look, it was hard to tell-and even attempting to fight her psychic intrusion to the best of his limited ability. That was not so good. She needed the information contained in that mind. She briefly considered just killing him and doing a Death-Reading, but his memories would begin to deteriorate the moment he died, and she did not want to risk running out of time before finding the information she had gone to so much trouble to obtain. And besides that, if Tom actually _did_ belong to some top-secret Deryni organization as Malcolm believed that he did, then he might have some sort of Death-Trigger setup that would destroy that knowledge instantly if she were to kill him or started tampering with that second set of shields. Malcolm would be beyond pissed if she were to do something that careless.

She considered the pharmacological arsenal she had on hand. Merasha would not serve her purpose; the psychic disruption that would cause would affect her nearly as badly as it would affect him, were she to attempt to breach his shields while he was under the influence of a drug so powerful. No, she merely needed him unconscious and unresisting, his regular shields naturally vulnerable, and then perhaps she could introduce a little extra something to help her breach those adamantine interior shields that were being such a nuisance, if rendering him unconscious was not quite enough to do that trick. . . .

Ah, she found it! Slipping a small vial out of her bag of drugs and toxins, she unscrewed the stopper and inserted the tip of a medicine dropper between his lips, squeezing out a few drops of its contents onto what ought to be his tongue. Tilting his head up, she held him in that position until she felt a reflexive swallow. There, that should serve! Waiting a few minutes for the drug to take effect, she contemplated her next stage of action.

* * *

 _Morning  
The Camberian Council chamber  
Somewhere in the Rhendall Mountains  
December 17, 2021_

"How's your arm?" James Arilan asked the priest seated beside him.

Devlin rubbed the slightly numb appendage. "Better. Feeling has started to return to it-that pins and needles feeling, at any rate."

"I wasn't expecting Her Majesty to _literally_ fall asleep on you," James teased, looking mildly envious. "I don't imagine a conscientious priest like you finds himself in that position with a beautiful woman often."

Dev gave a self-conscious laugh. "Not ones we're not married to, at any rate. Her Majesty was exhausted. You can hardly blame her, with the kind of day she's had. I just didn't expect how quickly she slipped off. I'd figured she might need a sleep spell."

"I just figured you were a boring conversationalist."

The priest grinned. Seeking to deflect the conversation away from the awkward topic at hand, he gazed upward at the large crystal sphere above them. "Well, are you ready to summon the rest of the Council, or were you waiting for me to do it?"

"I figured we could both lend our energies to the task. That would be faster."

* * *

 _Morning  
The Whitfield Residence  
A suburb outside of Concaradine  
December 17, 2021_

"So what did you discover? Will the plan work?"

The woman known to most people in Gwynedd as Caroline Whitfield tapped the speakerphone icon on her phone's touch screen and set it onto a nearby desk. "I think it will, although with a fair few alterations. I'm still futzing around inside Tom's head to see if I can find more concrete information about the physical location of the Camberian Council chamber, although it definitely _does_ exist-that's not just some archaic Deryni legend, more's the pity, and you were quite right in your guess that he was on the Council-but I could easily get there via their Transfer Portal now. The problem, of course, would not be in getting through their Portal so much as getting into the Council chamber itself without a member of the Council there to provide a safe escort through. I think I've figured out a work-around for that, though."

"Good, good! Excellent work!" said the Camberian caller.

"I have some other interesting news to report that you might find almost equally excellent," Not-Caroline informed him, her voice a bit smug.

"Oh?"

"Are you aware that the bulk of the Council's informational data banks are not in the Council chambers at all, but in a private home somewhere near Rhemuth called Tre-Arilan?" She stroked Tom's hair almost fondly. "I have the Portal signature for that location as well. The Duke of Corwyn was apparently a guest there as of yesterday afternoon; perhaps he is still there. Would you like to see another Haldane dead, Your Grace?"

"I can think of little I'd like better than a dead Haldane, Alisandra, you know that."

"Which location would you prefer to strike first, my lord? It seems Lord Arilan will not be home this morning. He is planning on calling a Council meeting. I very much doubt he plans on bringing Morgan Haldane with him. Tom didn't seem to think it likely, at any rate; you apparently injured the Haldane whelp quite severely. It's a pity the RHR had a Healer on staff in the Emergency Department."

"Yes, well, we'll deal with the Deryni population in Rhemuth soon enough. A full strike on the Council location might be a problem so soon; since we don't know its physical location, we can't get sufficient manpower there by this morning, certainly. Unless . . . ." There was a long pause.

"Unless?"

"Do you know how to remotely control your husband's mind while he's in his present state? Enough to walk him a few feet in one direction, at least?'

Alisandra focused her will on making Tom stand. As his torso moved upwards, she waited for him to be on secure footing, stabilizing him with her mind before venturing to move him one step, then two, until like a sleepwalker he crossed to the other side of the room. "I believe I can manage that, love."

"In that case, I believe I might have a plan."

* * *

 _Morning  
The Camberian Council chamber  
Somewhere in the Rhendall Mountains  
December 17, 2021_

Lady Maureen McLain-Sheehan, looking somewhat tired, took her customary seat at the Council table. "Sorry I'm late," she told everyone gathered. "Alicia rang me up just as I was about to step onto the Portal to ask me to let you all know she might not be able to make it, or at best she may be quite delayed. She is working on the lab results from the Rhemuth Castle bombing, and the Minister for Defense has asked for the preliminary report by noon today. But she'll try to break free as soon as she can." Looking around the table, she asked, "Where's Tom?"

James Arilan frowned. "We don't know. I last saw him yesterday evening and told him I'd be calling this meeting today, so I figured he would have shown up by now."

Elspeth McIntyre snorted. "Probably just couldn't pull himself off that hot young wife of his. Have you seen her? He's, like, old enough to be her father!"

Peter Astari gave his watch a discreet glance. "Well, we have a majority present, so that will have to suffice. James, I believe you Called us all here; I'm sure we're all curious to hear why. I take it you and Tom managed to discover something in your data search that you think may be a possible lead, or is this about some other matter?"

"Bit of both, really," James replied, "although I had really hoped Tom could be here today to share his part of the discovery. He did most of the data sifting, actually. I ended up being otherwise occupied." He glanced at Father Devlin, who returned his wry smile with one of his own. "As it happened, I had an unexpected houseguest. Two, really, although one was even more of a surprise than the other."

Lady Violet rolled her eyes. "Please, James dear, enough of the suspense. Just tell us already."

"All right." He took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the other Councillors' reactions. "Since the night of the attack, I have had the privilege of providing safe shelter for Her Majesty Queen Sophia the Second of Gwynedd, and as of yesterday afternoon the Duke of Corwyn as well." He smiled at the dumbfounded expressions reflected back at him from most of his colleagues. "So, how soon can we arrange for that power assumption ritual, and might we use the ritual chamber here, or shall I just plan on us using my own ritual chamber at Tre-Arilan?"

"I should hardly think it would be necessary to bring Her Majesty _here_ for her empowerment, is it?" Lady Violet Estridge objected once the initial hubbub of excitement over James's unexpected news had died down. "I mean, certainly she is entitled to seek our help, but disclosing our secret Council Chambers to The Haldane is a different matter entirely! Do remember, my dear boy, that our _primary_ loyalty-no matter how dear our young Queen is to all our hearts, of course!-is to serve the best interests of _all_ of Derynikind, not simply the desires of the House of Haldane. We don't know the mettle of this new Queen yet; how can we be sure that there will never be a conflict between those two interests?"

"Oh, come now, Violet!" Maureen retorted. "Do you seriously think that Her Majesty would ever wish to act against the best interests of Deryni in our kingdom?"

"Of course not, dear, and therein lies part of the problem. She would naturally side with the Deryni of her own kingdom; one can hardly blame a Queen for that, after all!. But if we have an ancient charge to protect _all_ Deryni, then what of the Deryni of Americia? Or even of Camberia? As much as I have to admit feeling no great sympathy for those upstart nations, we do have a responsibility towards Derynikind which extends even beyond our borders."

"Americia and Camberia have their own Councils now, Violet," Peter reminded her, "not to mention the smaller nations who send representatives to the annual Conclave. I hardly think we need to continue shouldering the burden of considering ourselves the watchful guardian angels over the entire world anymore."

"Being a guardian angel would be a very uncomfortable role for you anyway, Peter," Father Devlin quipped under his breath. Only a slight crinkle at the corners of Peter's eyes betrayed that he'd overheard the comment.

Violet pursed her lips. "I still don't like it. There is a reason that we have traditionally not allowed The Haldane to participate in Council matters. You need only look back to history to recall the upset caused within our ranks when Kelson the First learned of the Council's existence."

"The same Kelson who was later invited to _join_ our Council?" James Arilan added tartly.

"An invitation which he, in his greater wisdom, turned down, dear," Violet said primly. "He understood that, as King of Gwynedd, he might well have occasions when he would need to put his whole kingdom's interests over the interests of Derynikind, despite his personal Deryni sympathies. It was that sort of wisdom that led to him becoming known as Kelson the Great, after all."

 _An interesting take on Kelson's thinking_ , mused Maureen. _I wonder what Jennifer's opinion of Violet's theory might be? I certainly know what Will would have said about it, especially given the admission of other sovereigns to the Council ranks!_ She fought the urge to smirk at the thought of the acerbic comments her late husband would mostly likely have made about Violet's particularly Derynicentric assessment. _Has Violet completely forgotten about Queen Sofiana of Andelon's two terms on the Council, or in more recent history the five decades of Council service from Princess Marguerite de Bremagne? Or that Saint Camber, for whom our Council was named, was also known as the Defender of Humankind, not simply of Deryni?_

"All right, then the Tre-Arilan ritual chamber it shall be, unless Eirian House has a suitable location for the empowerment," James said. "Which brings me to my second topic. With the destruction of much of Rhemuth Castle-and even once the reconstruction begins, I doubt we could make it habitable for quite some time-Her Majesty has need for a new residence, not to mention a functional seat of government. She still has the palace at Valoret, of course, but with all of our Ministries well ensconced in Rhemuth for most of the past millennium, it would hardly be feasible to relocate Gwynedd's capital at this late date. However, there is also Eirian House, the Royal Family's summer house just north of the Rhemuth city boundaries. It would be far enough outside of the City proper to make it easier to keep very tight security there, yet close enough to allow for an easy commute on those occasions when HM needs to actually be in Rhemuth rather than merely near it. Security there is already quite good; with the Duke of Corwyn's assistance, we have started work on improving it in readiness for the Queen's use when she is ready to relocate."

"I would be glad to lend my assistance to that effort as well," Peter told him.

"And I," Violet chimed in. "I do believe we could manage to make the offer discreetly enough, without having to mention the Council's involvement. After all, Mr Astari _is_ one of Gwynedd's wealthiest hoteliers-" She gave the coadjutor a simpering smile before continuing. "And I, of course, used to serve Her Majesty's dear mother, so naturally I would wish to come to the aid of her daughter in this time of need."

"So noted," James said, ignoring the moue of distaste on Elspeth's face.

Violet, however, noticed as well. "Is there a problem, Elspeth?"

"Not with Dr Formacek moving wherever she wants-it _is_ her house, after all, and she can move to the Torenthi Federation or even Lower Byzantyun for all I care-but I just think all this kowtowing to the woman just because she was lucky enough to be born a royal is damn silly."

"I'm not sure she's feeling particularly lucky to be royal just at the moment," Father Devlin said quietly.

* * *

 _Later Morning  
The Whitfield Residence  
A suburb outside of Concaradine  
December 17, 2021_

Alisandra rummaged through her bag of supplies, looking for items which would serve her purpose. A grenade would certainly have come in handy, she mused, but she could hardly just run out and pick one up. At the thought, she stifled a chuckle. She imagined herself popping in to some local munitions store (not that she was aware of any such thing in her neighborhood, but it was a lovely fantasy nonetheless) to ask, "Where might I find your grenades? Am I in time for your BOGOF special? " In the current state of emergency, that wouldn't raise any red flags, no, not at all!

But no, there was no need for something so boring and conventional as a hand grenade after all. What she had here would serve her purpose well enough. Selecting a small bottle of acrinium powder from her supplies, she poured out half of the contents into another container, stoppering it well and putting it back in her bag. Replacing the lid on the bottle, she washed her hands thoroughly before pocketing it, then rummaged through the bag until she found another bottle and small vial. After carefully filling the vial with some of the second bottle's contents, being very careful not to allow any of acidic solution contained within to come into contact with her skin, she also added a few drops of concentrated merasha to the vial, tightly sealed both containers, and put the small vial into another pocket. She definitely did _not_ wish to risk combining the two substances before it was time. Combined, they would create a gas that was quite lethal. It was a little slower-acting than she might have preferred, but it would certainly be quick enough to incapacitate the entire Camberian Council at one go, with the merasha added being a special touch to keep their Deryni powers in check until they succumbed to the poisonous gas. Oh, they certainly wouldn't be in any shape to fight back, let alone evacuate from a room with no means of escape besides a Transfer Portal, and with no one else even knowing about their secret location, they'd have no hope of rescue. Malcolm, she had to admit, was a diabolically clever man to have come up with the idea.

As for the other part of the plan (and this part was definitely her own twist on the mission, though surely Malcolm would be pleased once he found out about her little surprise-he _had_ said there was little he would like better than a dead Haldane, hadn't he?), she shouldered another weapon that was much more mechanical than chemical. There was a slight hitch to this second half of the plan; Tom had not been exactly sure of what sorts of security systems were in place at Tre-Arilan, and therefore neither was she. Nor did she know how many Deryni other than the despised loyalist Duke might be in the home despite its owner's absence. No matter; last she checked, Deryni were far from bulletproof. All she needed to do was get through the Portal and into the residence itself, and she was certain things would come together swimmingly from there.

That all done, it was time to put on a gas mask and maneuver Tom towards the Transfer Portal. "Come on, darling. Let's go visit your old friends, shall we?"

* * *

 _Later Morning  
The Camberian Council chamber  
Somewhere in the Rhendall Mountains  
December 17, 2021_

"Maureen, have you had a chance to speak to your daughter and son-in-law about possibly participating in the ritual?" James asked. "We may need your daughter's help in particular just now; it would seem that Her Majesty has never even heard of the three Haldane artifacts traditionally used in the activation ritual. Your daughter still works at the Royal Library, yes? In the Historical Archives?"

"She does."

"Then perhaps she might be able to bring Her Majesty up to speed with the more arcane aspects of her Haldane family history. Refresh my memory, those of you who can remember the late Queen's Coronation more clearly than I can; she was wearing all three insignia at the time, was she not?" James searched the faces of the older members of the Council.

"You are referring to the Ring of Fire, the Eye of Rom, and the Crimson Lion, are you not?" Violet asked. "If so, then yes, she certainly was. I was Mistress of the Robes for the occasion."

"Then can you recall what happened to those items after the Coronation ceremony?" James asked, suppressed excitement brightening his features.

Violet shrugged. "I have no idea. She handed them over to her husband Duke Henri for safekeeping, I imagine. They were kept in a box together, I remember that much, and the last time I saw it, she was handing the box to him to put up. Perhaps he put it back in her personal safe, or maybe sent it to one of the treasure rooms in the Keep."

"The Keep is still intact," Peter remarked. "That should be easy enough to check, especially if either Her Majesty or the Duke of Corwyn are willing to return to Rhemuth Castle long enough to get someone through the treasure room security wards, since I believe they're encoded to Haldanes and very specific members of their staff only."

"That might need to wait until the investigations on the Castle premises have been completed," Peter said. "I realize the Queen needs to have full access to her powers sooner rather than later, but I can't imagine that Anti-Terrorism would be too happy to have Her Majesty on site right now, both for safety reasons and because of the possibility of disturbing valuable evidence."

"I don't imagine she could disturb it much more than blowing half of the Castle partway to the Moon has done already," Elspeth remarked, drawing a scandalized look from Violet. "But that reminds me, James. You mentioned something earlier about Tom finding something yesterday that might be relevant to the Castle attack. Since he's not here to share what he found, perhaps you could elaborate?"

"Yes, gladly," James replied, suppressing a start of surprise that for once the Councillor who most tended to rub him the wrong way had contributed something useful to the discussion at hand. "Tom did a thorough name and background check for individuals who most closely matched the criteria we outlined yesterday." He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a page of printed text. "Here is a short list of the Deryni or Empowered Humans who are our most likely suspects with both ability and motive to enter Rhemuth Castle via the Haldane Portal and assassinate the late Queen and other members of the Royal Household. Notice the name circled at the top." He flattened the paper and pushed it to the center of the table.

"Sir Lloyd O'Malley," Maureen read aloud. "Where do I know that name from?"

"Embezzlement scandal a couple of years back," Peter Astari supplied. "And his son Colin has been in the news quite recently-a kidnapping, wasn't it?" He looked up at James for confirmation.

"Colin O'Malley . . . ." A disturbed look crossed Maureen's face as she traced a fingertip idly over the O'Malley surname on the printout. She turned to Peter. "I had the most horrible dream last ni-" She broke off, staring towards the room's entrance.

Everyone else turned to see what she was staring at. A young woman wearing a gas mask stood just beyond the open chamber door, one arm linked around Tom Whitfield's waist in ironic parody of a loving embrace. Tom stared blankly ahead, no recognition of his surroundings in his features. Before anyone could react, the intruder tossed an open bottle filled with a roiling substance onto the middle of the table. As the bottle cracked upon impact, rolling a short distance across the table's surface, a noxious green gas filled the Council chamber. The woman stepped quickly back, dragging Tom onto the Portal square with her, and disappeared. No one attempted to intercept her, for suddenly it was nearly impossible to think or even breathe.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

 _Just after noon  
The Camberian Council chamber  
Somewhere in the Rhendall Mountains  
December 17, 2021_

Alicia Coris came through the Portal exactly ten minutes after turning in her report to the Chief of the Anti-Terrorism Bureau. Still silently fuming over that encounter, she took a moment to take a deep breath. Immediately, her danger sense tingled, and she paused on the Portal square to center herself and assess the situation.

There was a faint whiff of something acrid smelling that she caught in that moment. Before she could identify the odor, she noticed a pale green fog beginning to seep into the vestibule from underneath the closed doors to the Council chamber.

 _O sweet Saint Camber, preserve us!_ Alicia sternly suppressed her first instinct to throw open those doors and rescue her friends. No, she would only succumb to the same fate as theirs if she did that. But what _could_ she do? One idea occurred to her, and she made another Portal jump to someone she believed might be able to help.

* * *

 _Just after noon  
The Royal Hospital of Rhemuth  
Emergency Department Portal  
Rhemuth  
December 17, 2021_

"Sweetheart, you nearly scared the crap outta me!" Healer Dr Karim Al-Sayid yelped as Alicia suddenly appeared on the hospital Portal square nearly on top of him. "You _know_ this Portal is restricted to emergency use, Alicia! Are you dealing with a life-threatening emergency?"

"Yes," she retorted, cutting his rant short. "I need gas masks and . . . and what's the antidote to _this?_ She Mind-Shared the memory of her entry into the Council Chamber's vestibule with her flatmate.

"I . . . ." He frowned as he analyzed the images and remembered odor that Alicia shared with him. "I think that's acrinious gas, isn't it? Who the flying hell has got their hands on acrinious gas? And where _is_ this place?" As he spoke, he strode over to one of the hospital's Green Line phones. "We're going to need to call more Healers in on this. And Anti-Terrorism needs to be involved as well. _We're_ certainly not equipped to deal with acrinious gas!" He turned back to face Alicia. "We'll need that Portal signature."

She hesitated. Yes, she was sworn by an oath of blood and power never to reveal the secrets of the Council Chamber, yet obviously their location had already been compromised, and in one of the most violent of ways. Surely the oath would not be binding now, with the lives of the entire Council at stake? Alicia knew what she had to do, and yet she feared what future repercussions the revelation might bring if she were to respond with complete honesty. What conspiracy theories might spring up if humans were to become aware of a centuries-old secret Deryni organization in their midst? For that matter, how would Deryni society deal with having their suspicions of the Council's existence indisputably confirmed?

"It's . . . a private conference venue. I'll share the Portal signature with you on the condition that you will not share the exact location with anyone but another Deryni Healer. As for calling in Anti-Terrorism . . . . " She frantically searched her phone contacts for a particular number. "I'll see if I can get Patrick Adams in on this. Not only is he Deryni, he'll want to be there anyway; his mother-in-law is likely one of the victims."

* * *

 _Just after noon  
The Camberian Council chamber  
Somewhere in the Rhendall Mountains  
December 17, 2021_

Peter Astari choked on the noxious fumes emanating from the bottle thrown into the midst of the assembled Councilors. As Maureen began to slump to the ground beside him, he barely managed to catch her, using what little remaining strength he had to haul her upright. Most of the green fog seemed to be dropping over the edge of the table almost like some slow, gaseous waterfall. That meant whatever the toxic gas was, it was heavier than air. Good. That gave Peter an idea.

Half falling onto the tabletop, he flailed out to slap the bottle across the table. It fell, shattering on the stone floor below. The green clouds rose, their ascent growing alarmingly faster as the rest of the gas was released from its confinement. Wondering if he'd done the right thing or had simply delayed the inevitable - or had he sped it up instead? - he pushed Maureen onto the table. Father Devlin, struggling upright, saw what was happening as well and began to tug at James, who was closest, hoisting him high enough to fall face-down upon the table. He reached for Elspeth then, but she was too far away. Dropping to his knees, he began to crawl towards her, every breath feeling like an inhalation of fire now. Beyond Elspeth he could dimly make out Violet's form, lying prone on the floor, impossibly distant. But Maureen's hand appeared now, fishing for Violet from somewhere above the table, and a moment later Peter reached down, his fingertips just managing to brush her sleeve before falling limp. Devlin concentrated on reaching the closer woman. _Saint Jorian, help us in our time of need!_

From seemingly nowhere James appeared, revived enough for the moment to assist, and together the two men struggled to lift Elspeth's head higher before collapsing into dreamless oblivion.

* * *

 _Ten minutes later  
The Royal Hospital of Rhemuth  
Emergency Department Portal  
Rhemuth  
December 17, 2021_

Detective Inspector Adams nearly stumbled off the Emergency Department Portal square several minutes later, hauling a large hand cart. He tossed gas masks to Alicia, Karim, and two other Healers. "Be glad the Chief was nowhere near the equipment supply this morning; as it is, I'm going to have my arse handed back to me if he ever finds out I requisitioned this haul."

"And by 'requisitioned' we mean 'borrowed without asking'?" Alicia inquired as she wordlessly exchanged the unique psychic signature of their destination Portal with him. "Do any of us have any complaints about DI Adams breaking the rules for once?"

"Certainly not me," Karim said, stepping onto the large Emergency Department Portal, giving the adjustment strap on his gas mask one last tug. "If your Chief asks, Adams, I know nothing."

"I hate to ask, Alicia, but is the infiltrator likely to still be on the premises of this location we'll be headed to?" Patrick's expression was grim. "This could go pretty damn badly for all of us if I'm escorting unarmed civilians into a target site that isn't properly secured."

She looked alarmed as she considered that thought, then shook her head. "I doubt it, not that I exactly stuck around to find out! But we've hardly any other choice, now do we?"

He shook his head. "Unless you know of some other way to approach the target site, then no, we don't. All right then, let's get started. Healers, please step off the Portal square; I'll let you know if it's safe to come in. Alicia, you bring me in first, just to make sure I actually end up at the right location, then jump back here. I'll check the premises, get the atmospheric decontamination started, then come back here to give you the all-clear to come in." He gave them all a warning look. "If I don't return within five minutes, _don't_ try any stupid heroics!"

* * *

 _Early afternoon  
The Camberian Council chamber  
Somewhere in the Rhendall Mountains  
December 17, 2021_

The steady thrum of the air filtering equipment echoed off the walls of the Council Chamber as the Healers worked in silence, securing oxygen masks onto their unconscious patients' faces, injecting them with a neutralizing agent for the merasha that the equipment had detected in the noxious fumes that filled the chamber, and lifting them onto stretchers before wheeling them to the Portal. Alicia stood guard at the Portal entrance, looking stricken as one by one she saw her colleagues being wheeled onto the Portal square only to disappear in order to clear the square for the next patient and attending Healer. Patrick had gone on a brief reconnaissance of the chamber below once Alicia belatedly remembered to inform him of its existence, although he had swiftly returned to announce that the premises were clear of intruders.

Soon, all of the Councilors had been evacuated. Patrick and Alicia alone remained behind to gather the remaining equipment from the room. While the Council Chamber air was not yet fully cleared of the contaminant, it would naturally dissipate on its own within a day or two; sooner, if the underground chambers' ventilation system cycled fresher air in from the outside, as Patrick was certain it must do somehow, despite there being no visible ventilation system ducts. An underground chamber used as a regular meeting place must get fresh air in from somewhere, after all, or it would have become a tomb centuries before. What remained would be a green acrinium residue which would need to be scrubbed off every exposed surface thoroughly, preferably by people wearing hazmat suits, before he could declare the chamber safe for use again. But that would be a worry for another day. For now, he had to get the equipment decontaminated and returned to equipment storage before the Chief discovered it was gone.

* * *

 _Meanwhile, just after noon  
The undercroft  
Tre-Arilan  
December 17, 2021_

Alisandra double-checked her memory of the Portal signature she had stolen from Tom's mind before making the jump to the new location, holding Tom closely almost as if shielding herself with his body. In a sense she was; she was not entirely sure how what size of a space she would be arriving into, and if her body were to inadvertently brush up against wards - well, if Tom was to serve as her unwilling escort and living key into Lord Arilan's demesne, she definitely wanted him to enter the warded area first!

It took a moment to get her bearings in the new location. The chamber was mostly dark, with only subdued lighting coming from an adjoining room. She blinked her eyes, adjusting to the near-darkness. So far, so good.

* * *

 _Moments later  
Upstairs  
Tre-Arilan  
December 17, 2021_

"Your Grace?" Carbury's voice was the merest hint of a whisper. "I don't wish to alarm you, but our Portal's alert sensors have just been triggered, and I believe we have an intruder. I have already notified Her Majesty's armsmen. If I could trouble you to join them in Her Majesty's room, I shall go downstairs to investigate at once."

Morgan Haldane was out of his chair at once. "Better yet, I'll go with you."

Carbury gave him a concerned look. "There may be a bit of a disturbance. Are you certain Your Grace is quite up to it?"

Morgan favored him with a grim smile. "Oh, I assure you, should it come to that, 'My Grace' is quite looking forward to causing _someone_ a bit of disturbance!"

* * *

 _The undercroft  
Tre-Arilan_

Alisandra tentatively started to push Tom's body forward. This was the moment of truth. She knew the wards were set to grant Tom free access to the computer room. What was beyond that area was anyone's guess, for apparently Tom had never been inside the actual residence, just the great house's undercroft area, but she would cross that hurdle when she came to it. At the very least, she should take a few minutes to scout out this area and report back to Malcolm about what she'd discovered.

With her mind linked with Tom's, she ought to be able to fool this Portal with the illusion that Tom was escorting her through the wards rather than the other way around. At least the trick had worked with the other Portal, although each one tended to be set differently, so she couldn't be absolutely certain she'd be as fortunate this time around. Still, it was quite likely things would go off without a hitch.

Tom's body came into contact with the wards. Nothing happened. She pushed him through, her arm still wrapped around his waist. It was only when the front of her own body came into contact with the wall of energy that she was abruptly brought up short.

* * *

 _The undercroft  
Tre-Arilan  
Seconds later_

"This," said Carbury, "is where the fun begins."

Bright spotlights shone directly into the Transfer Portal niche. From some unseen area within the wards emanated a hissing sound.

"His lordship might have made a few modifications to the original Portal design," Carbury explained to Morgan Haldane with a smug smile.

* * *

 _The brighter side of Hell  
Tre-Arilan_

Alisandra found herself blinded by brilliant light as pain pulsated through her entire being. _The wards!_ she managed to think somewhat coherently as her body attempted to jerk away from the walls of energy, but Tom's body refused to move back with her. As she convulsed, she became aware of a fine mist squirting down from the ceiling onto her contorted face. Her eyes widened as she recognized the smell and taste of the merasha spray.

* * *

 _On the outside, looking in  
Tre-Arilan_

Morgan started forward, snatching Tom Whitfield out of Alisandra's grasp. Tom, no longer under Alisandra's control, slumped in Morgan's arms. The duke lay the fallen Deryni gently on the ground, then started forward again, menace in his eyes, but Carbury stopped him.

"One minute, Your Grace. Let's wait a few more moments to be sure there's enough merasha in her system, then she'll need a thorough rinse, won't she? We wouldn't want to leave any merasha in the Portal area, after all, if Lord Arilan will be returning home by that route." He walked over to a control panel on the wall, tapping a fingertip lightly beside a lit button for a few seconds before pressing it. A torrent of water spilled down, drenching the warded area's occupant and partially reviving her for just a moment, although the water caused the energies from the wards to course through her, knocking her out cold again.

"Damn." Carbury waved a hand and muttered a phrase under his breath to disperse the ward. A flow of water gushed towards him and Morgan, only to be diverted into cracks between the flooring stones. "His lordship and I gave considerable thought to the drainage issue and had underground drains installed accordingly, but unfortunately we neglected to consider the possibility of inadvertently electrocuting my lord's uninvited guests. One of the downsides to having a residence as secure as Tre-Arilan is that we have been rather lacking in test subjects. I do hope our visitor can be revived; I am certain Lord Arilan will want to question her."

Morgan gave Carbury a long, considering look. "All of these . . . modifications, were they your idea, or Lord Arilan's?"

Carbury inclined his head modestly. "Well, his lordship had the necessary expertise in security systems to implement the improvements, but I may have suggested certain of the more . . . _innovative_ details."

Morgan smiled broadly. "I don't suppose it would be possible for me to hire you away from Lord Arilan?"

"I'm afraid not, Your Grace. However, I am certain his lordship would be most amenable to a consultancy arrangement."

* * *

 _Early afternoon  
The Royal Hospital of Rhemuth  
Emergency Department Portal  
Rhemuth  
December 17, 2021_

Peter Astari struggled to sit upright on the hospital gurney in the Emergency Department Portal room. His attending Healer tried to calm him, but he stared around frantically. "No, not a hospital!" he protested. "We can't be admitted; just give us a few minutes and we'll leave . . . ."

"Sir, please lie down. I'm afraid you're not in any shape right now . . . ." The Healer slipped the oxygen mask back over Peter's nose and mouth as the patient gasped for breath. "Lie _still,_ sir!"

On another gurney nearby, James Arilan managed to force a whispered explanation despite the searing pain in his throat and lungs, "He's right, Karim. If we're admitted here, there will be required reports to fill out, won't there? With a chemical attack involved, Anti-Terrorism would need to be informed. We need to avoid that at any cost."

Alicia eyes widened as the implications dawned on her. She turned a beseeching look at her flatmate. "Oh, Karim, I didn't think of that! Is there any way we can get around having any of this in the official record?"

"Are you all barking _mad?!_ " the Healer replied in a stifled bellow. "I could lose my license over this if the Chief of Medicine finds out!"

"Then let's not have him find out," Maureen suggested quietly between coughs. "Can't you just Heal us and let us slip quietly out the back?

"You'd still need follow-up medical care," the third Healer, a pretty young woman with the label _Healer_ _O'Flynn_ over her breast pocket, reminded the stricken Councilors. "Where would we transfer you to? We'd still be facing the same issues."

"What about Tre-Arilan?" Elspeth croaked hoarsely. "It's a huge bloody mansion with all the amenities, isn't it? You could discharge us there for care. It's large enough to hold us, surely, and at least there's a doctor there already."

Healer Dr Karim Al-Sayid gave his friend Lord Arilan a puzzled look. "You have a resident physician at Tre-Arilan, or was Carbury an Army medic before he entered service?"

James closed his eyes and bit back a strangled curse.

* * *

 _Early afternoon  
Tre-Arilan  
The undercroft  
December 17, 2021_

"I've seen to Mr Whitfield, Your Grace. At the moment he is safely resting in one of the guest suites. I have taken the precaution of taking a very close look at the psychic damage, but it does not appear that his assailant planted anything within his mind that would make him subject to her further control. Although the damage she left behind is quite problematic, I think once the drugs are out of his system there is some hope of him making at least a partial recovery." Carbury's lips thinned. "Although I am no Healer. Perhaps his prognosis would be improved if someone with greater experience with psychic injuries were to take over his care? I will admit to some unease about keeping him here, all things considered, despite being fairly certain he would not be a threat." He gave a meaningful glance upwards before continuing. "I should very much hate to be mistaken."

"Yes, I agree," Morgan said. "For the same reason, I'd rather not have _this_ " - he prodded the unconscious intruder with the toe of his boot - "remain here, although if Lord Arilan wishes to have a hand in her questioning, I would certainly be glad to bring him to Coroth at some later time. Thank you for your hospitality, Carbury, but I need to check in at home for a few hours at the very least, before my staff starts to panic. I'm sure they've seen yesterday's broadcast, but if I don't show up in the flesh soon, that will be of little reassurance." He smiled. "Fortunately Coroth Castle still has a working dungeon, although it's been quite a while since it has served its original purpose. Once I'm certain our unwanted guest is secured, I'll return to check in with Lord Arilan and see how everything else is faring." Another glance upward communicated his meaning. If the woman lying bound at his feet was able to hear anything in her present state and did not already know of the Queen's presence at Tre-Arilan, she certainly was not about to hear that news from _him._ "If you have not managed to arrange for Mr Whitfield's transfer into a Healer's care by the time I get back, I might be able to offer a few discreet strings to pull."

Hoisting Alisandra over his shoulder, he stepped towards the Transfer Portal, stopping just at the outside edge of the Portal square to look back over his shoulder at Carbury. "You're certain you've rinsed away _all_ of the merasha?"

Carbury opened his mouth to assure the Duke of Corwyn that the Portal was now safe for use, but the twinkle in Morgan's eyes clued him in that he was being teased. The corners of his mouth twitched into a shadow of a smile. "If I've managed to miss a spot, Your Grace, I am certain you shall be the first to know."

* * *

 _Not long afterward  
Tre-Arilan  
The undercroft_

Lord James Arilan was the first of the six patients to arrive through the Transfer Portal that afternoon, since he drew a firm line at sharing his home Portal signature with "half the frigging hospital," as he quietly groused to Father Devlin when no one else was listening. Instead, he brought Karim through first so that, while the Healer remained standing on the Portal square, Carbury could adjust the wards to grant him temporary access to leave and return through the wards with the other injured Deryni. After Karim completed the second and third such jumps back and forth magically hauling Father Devlin and Lady Maureen through what modern physicists had come to refer to as _t_ -space, the lord of the manor relented enough to allow Karim to share the Portal signature with one of the other Healers. Healer Heather O'Flynn came through next, wheeling a frail-looking Violet in, waiting within the wards while Carbury made similar adjustments for the second Healer to come and go. She returned shortly thereafter for Elspeth, and then for Peter Astari, with Karim bringing through Alicia Coris last, because she refused to be separated from the other Councillors and insisted on helping to care for them.

As the other patients were being brought through, Carbury drew James aside to inform him of what had occurred in his absence. Thus, as Heather continued the work of Healing the Councillors gathered in the undercroft, Carbury and James headed up the hidden staircase with Karim, Carbury to prepare rooms for their unscheduled new arrivals and James to lead Karim to the room where Tom Whitfield lay under the watchful eye of Her Majesty's junior armsman, Michael.

* * *

 _Late afternoon  
Coroth Castle  
A dungeon cell  
December 17, 2021_

"Where am I?!" The prisoner's expression was suffused with fear.

Morgan Haldane looked up from the dagger he was idly toying with, returning it to its wrist sheath as he stood to walk closer to the warded area. " _You_ are not in any position to ask me questions. You will, however, answer mine." He peered down at the reclining figure before him, inserting a steely note of Truth-Say command in his voice. "Who are you?"

She cowered back against the wall. "Caroline Alisandra Sheraton-Whitfield. Why am I being held here? What sort of madman are you?" There was not a single hint of guile in her reply.

He studied her for a long moment, his features impassive. _Well, bloody hell!_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

 _Mid-Afternoon  
Tre-Arilan  
The Residential Areas  
December 17, 2021_

"Exactly how do we happen to have seven victims of acrinious gas poisoning in my entire Kingdom, Mr Carbury, not to mention in Lord Arilan's parlor?" Sophia of Gwynedd demanded as she followed the butler downstairs from the guest wing where her room was located.

"The details are not entirely clear, Ma'am, I regret to say," Carbury replied. "Perhaps one of the Healers present might be of greater assistance." As he said this, he opened the door to the room in question, moving discreetly aside to allow the Queen through as he announced, "Her Majesty Sophia the Second of Gwynedd."

"Mr Carbury, is this really the time?" she murmured under her breath as she passed him. As the two Healers whirled to face them in shock, she asked more loudly, "Which of you is the Senior Healer?"

"Uh . . . That would be me, Dr . . . ah . . . Your Majesty." Healer Dr Karim Al-Sayid's eyes went wide in his dark face as realization struck him that his former colleague and very junior member of the hospital faculty was now his Queen. He bobbed a nervous bow as beside him Healer O'Flynn attempted a curtsey, the attempt somewhat spoiled by her green scrubs.

"For the time being, you may address me as Dr Formacek," Sophia reassured them with a suppressed sigh before becoming all business again. Turning to Karim, she said, "Healer, report!"

The familiar words, snapped in the same voice that Dr Formacek had used in the busy work environment of Hospital Triage when other emergency cases had been wheeled in, brought Karim's mind back to his duties.

"The first notification of the attack happened at 12:10 PM, made to me by an eyewitness who had happened upon the victims, by means of Mind-Sharing what she had witnessed. Based on her information, I inferred that acrinious gas was used for the chemical attack, so . . ." Healer Al-Sayid hesitated momentarily. "The . . . uh . . . eyewitness notified a colleague of hers in Anti-Terrorism of the need for gas filtering masks and decontamination equipment. At 12:43 pm, the Detective Inspector geared up and went through the Portal accompanied by Captain . . . uh, _the eyewitness_ to ensure it was secure. At 12:47, Healer O'Flynn and I went through along with one other Healer. We retrieved the victims and returned to hospital."

"Where you did what?" Sophia asked, one eyebrow arched in question at the unusual summation of events. Something wasn't adding up here, and even without Deryni powers to draw upon, it seemed evident that Karim was being evasive. "I would really like to know what transpired between the time you brought seven survivors of _acrinious gas_ through the Emergency Department Portal of a _civilian hospital_ in a _highly populated metropolitan area_ , and whenever you decided to transfer them to, shall we say, _residential care?_ "

Healer Dr Al-Sayid flinched slightly at her coolly sarcastic tone, but to his credit he maintained eye contact. "Several of the patients requested that their presence at the hospital be kept . . . ah . . . completely confidential; therefore, rather than bringing them to the decontamination shower, we proceeded with the decontamination using magical means. They then insisted upon being discharged here, despite my protest that they would receive sub-optimal care outside of a hospital setting. The patients agreed to allow two Healers to attend them here for continuity of care. One . . . ah . . . also mentioned that there would be a physician present on the premises." He looked chagrined. "That would be you, I suppose, Your Majesty?"

"Yes, that would indeed seem to be me." Sophia paused to think through what she had just been told. "Honestly, I don't even know where to start with my questions, Healer Dr Al-Sayid, but let's just take the first of my pressing concerns to begin with. How in the Nine Dantean Hells did a banned chemical compound make its way into my kingdom? I presume this attack took place on Gwyneddan soil?"

"I . . . uh . . . really couldn't say, Ma'am."

"Can't or won't, Healer?"

"I have no idea where the acrinium might have come from, or what physical location we picked the patients up from. All I can tell you is that we were told it was some sort of 'private conference venue.'" He looked to Healer O'Flynn for confirmation. She nodded mutely, looking nervous under the Queen's scrutiny.

"Told by whom?"

"The eyewitness, Ma'am."

"And where is this eyewitness now?"

"Um . . . ." The Healer's eyes nervously flicked back toward where his flatmate sat speaking quietly to one of the patients. Sophia's gaze followed his glance.

"And might I have the eyewitness's name?" The Queen's tone was deadly in its politeness.

"Lady Alicia Coris, Ma'am," the Healer informed her, sounding defeated.

"Thank you. I trust you brought some medical supplies with you when you transferred your patients here to my care?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Though of course Healer O'Flynn and I will remain for as long as needed until their conditions are fully stable."

"Indeed you will. And how exactly are you planning to explain your absence from your regular duties at RHR? Shall I need to ask Mr Carbury to contact them and let them know that I have requisitioned your services for the duration?"

Healer O'Flynn spoke up, her voice slightly shaky. "Your Majesty, our shift technically ended two hours ago, so we shouldn't be missed there until tomorrow."

"All right, then, I need to glove up. Size Small, if you have any on hand."

Sophia moved toward the back of the room toward the lady in question, who rose and curtseyed nervously at her approach. "Lady Alicia, I presume?"

"Yes, Your Majesty." Alicia's ocean blue eyes were filled with trepidation.

"I will require a few words with you in private later, but for the moment, please simply remain available."

"Yes, Ma'am," Alicia replied meekly.

Healer O'Flynn approached with gloves and a face mask. Sophia donned both. "Stethoscope?"

"Here, Ma'am." O'Flynn reached into her tunic pocket and handed hers over to the Queen.

"All right, take me to the worst affected patient first."

* * *

 _Mid-Afternoon  
Tre-Arilan  
Makeshift triage area, aka the parlor  
December 17, 2021_

Sophia listened carefully to Lady Violet's crackling breaths. Beside her, one of the other patients, a young woman with blonde dreadlocks, sat watching physician and Healer with a stony expression on her face.

"She needs more oxygen." Sophia propped Violet in a more upright position to assist with her labored breathing. "Do we have any Oxytol on hand?" Sophia asked Healer O'Flynn.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, but we don't. We administered Oxytol in hospital, and the other patients responded fairly quickly to it, but DI Adams reported that this patient was found lying closer to the gas bomb fragments than the others, so she may have inhaled more of the toxin. I could Portal back to hospital and get more Oxytol, Ma'am."

Sophia frowned. The patient clearly needed something to ease her breathing-the Healers had managed to repair all of the physical damage to her windpipe and lungs, but they could do little to alleviate the build-up of fluid that had accumulated due to her exposure to the toxic gases. Why she was having a more severe reaction to the toxin than the other patients had suffered, Sophia could not say at present. Perhaps O'Flynn was right, and she had simply inhaled more of the gaseous fumes than the other survivors, or maybe the difference had to do with the patient's more advanced age. But what sorts of questions might arise if the Healer was spotted rummaging through pharmaceutical supplies several hours after the end of her designated shift? "I've heard there is some sort of spell that Deryni can do that will draw extra oxygen from the surrounding air. Is that true, or is that folklore?"

"No, it's possible, Ma'am, although standard oxygen masks are more practical and don't require Healing energies to function, so it's rarely actually used outside of Healer training." Healer O'Flynn considered the matter. "I can set up the spell for Lady Violet; the problem is that if I do, someone will need to continue maintaining it."

"I could do it."

Both heads turned to regard the young woman who had spoken. Elspeth lifted her chin as if expecting a challenge. "Well, I _can!_ It's not like I'm doing anything besides sitting here, after all!"

"That would really help," Sophia affirmed, "as long as it doesn't put too much strain on your own healing." Turning to the Healer, she continued. "Would it?"

O'Flynn thought about the offer for a moment. "I think it would be all right as long as you let one of us know the moment you start to feel tired, or get one of your companions to take over from you once you reach that point. This spell doesn't take a great deal of energy to maintain, but the energy does need to be supplied pretty much constantly." She turned to sketch a pattern in the air around Violet's head with a finger, murmuring some words softly. A faint golden glow appeared around the Councillor's head. After a few moments, her body seemed to relax slightly as her breathing grew less labored and her coloring improved. After watching carefully to ensure the spell would continue to work properly, she beckoned Elspeth over, moving Elspeth's chair closer to the couch on which Violet lay. "Here, take her hand. If you maintain physical contact, it will be easier for her to receive your energies."

Satisfied that Violet was in more stable condition, the Healer moved on to tend to another patient. Sophia lingered, marveling at the Deryni spellwork. "Of all the powers that Deryni wield," she said quietly, "I've always thought Healing was the most wonderful of all. I don't suppose it's possible for a Haldane to assume those powers, is it?"

"I don't think so," Elspeth said curtly. "Not unless some Deryni with Healing gifts married into your family back in the day. There was that one guy - Alaric-Rhys Haldane, I think it was - who claimed he could Heal smallpox scars, but I think it was probably just those crimson curtains in the Royal infirmary that did the trick."

Sophia smiled. "Could have been a bit of both, maybe; who knows? I've read of studies into the efficacy of red-filtered light in minimizing smallpox lesions, though let's hope we never have need to attempt that sort of treatment again." Studying the patient carefully, she asked, "Is this Lady Violet Estridge? I think I recognize her, but I'm not entirely sure. I've not seen Lady Violet in years."

"Yeah, that's her." Elspeth stared at the unconscious woman. "She saved my life today. That damn bottle fell right in front of me, but she shoved me away from the shards and the worst of the gas cloud before she passed out. I have no idea why she bothered. She hates me." She shrugged. "Not that I exactly feel the warm fuzzies for her either."

"And yet you're helping her now," Sophia observed, transferring her attention to the younger patient.

"Yeah. I guess turnabout's fair play," Elspeth said. A shadow crossed her features, and she glared up at Sophia. "My father died keeping one of you damned royals safe! I'll bet you don't even remember," she blurted, her voice bitter.

There were forms of healing that go beyond even modern medicine's or a Deryni's ability to Heal, Sophia mused. She felt a bit out of her depth here, but she took a seat on the other side of Lady Estridge, studying the young woman's face intently. "You wouldn't happen to be Elspeth McIntyre, would you?" she ventured.

Elspeth stared at her in shock. "How did you know?"

Sophia tapped her fingertips together, carefully feeling her way through the situation. "Your father used to show me your picture. I figure we were both around five at the time. He told me that he had a little girl at home who was my age." She smiled. "You had long, curly ringlets and a bow in your hair, and I used to wish I had blonde ringlets too." The smile faded as sad memories came flooding back. "John McIntyre was a good man, and yes, my father owed his life to him. Believe me, Elspeth, I never forgot that. Or you."

Elspeth looked away, fiercely blinking away tears. She turned back to face Sophia, looking mutinous. "I don't believe in monarchy."

Sophia gave her a wry smile. "Oh, trust me, there are times when I've not been a huge fan of it myself. Like . . . oh, for instance two nights ago around 7:27 pm. I'm fine with civil opposition, Elspeth. Just promise you'll never try to kill me because I happened to be born a 'royal'."

The other young woman snorted. "No worries. Not my style." She looked up. "So, now that you've seen me again, you still want my hair? I hated those bloody ringlets!" She cracked a sardonic smile.

Sophia chuckled. "I'm afraid my tiara would look awful with those dreadlocks, but I rather like the beads." She grinned. "Though with my coloring, the pink fringe would definitely have to go. Perhaps Haldane crimson instead?"

She stood. "Elspeth, if it helps any, try to remember that your father didn't die protecting my father simply because mine happened to be a member of the Royal Family. He gave his life to protect another because that was just the kind of man John McIntyre was - a good, decent, selfless man. If it had been anyone else's life in danger, he would have done the same thing. He had a heart for helping others." Sophia glanced down at Lady Estridge, then back at Elspeth. "Just as you're doing now. I think he would be very proud of you." She moved to the next patient, leaving Elspeth McIntyre thoughtfully staring after her.

* * *

 _Later Afternoon  
Tre-Arilan  
Makeshift triage area, aka the parlor  
December 17, 2021_

Sophia moved on to check out how the other patients were progressing. Most seemed to be recovering quickly aside from a lingering cough, which she wasn't overly concerned about since she knew that was likely to continue for at least another day or two. Now that their strength was beginning to return, their own immune systems would begin to kick in, and Sophia knew from her medical studies that Deryni energies could be brought to bear in accelerating the healing process, even in Deryni who lacked the particular gene sequence that allowed more specific Healing powers to emerge. Most Deryni, barring accidental deaths or incurable disease, tended towards somewhat longer lifespans than the average human. Not ridiculously longer, of course - it's not like they were living in some fantasy world with elves and the like! - but statistically, full Deryni tended to have an average life expectancy of about a decade more than the average human lifespan, with Latents like herself falling somewhere in between.

She was jarred from her thoughts when she noticed a very familiar face smiling up at her. "You're Lady Maureen McLain-Sheehan, aren't you?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. It's good to see you again, although I would have preferred better circumstances." Maureen flashed a brief smile between coughs.

Sophia listened to Maureen's breathing, nodding with satisfaction afterwards. "I'm going to prescribe Allontin to all of you to help clear up this lingering nastiness, but you should be feeling a lot better in a day or two. How is Eilonwy these days? She's married now, as I recall."

"Yes, and to the Detective Inspector who rescued us earlier today," Maureen informed her. "Lady Alicia introduced them." She glanced over at the Councillor whose late arrival had saved all their lives.

Sophia followed her look. "Ah, yes, that reminds me. I still have a few questions for Lady Alicia. And is that gentleman she is speaking with Mr Peter Astari?"

"He is, Ma'am."

"I thought I recognized him." She smiled at Maureen. "Good to see you again. I'd love to see Eilonwy again once things settle down a bit."

"She would love that, Ma'am. She and Jennifer DeLisle have been quite frantic about you in the past few days. May I tell them that I've seen you, or should I keep that information confidential at present? It would help alleviate their anxiety to know you're safe and well."

"You may tell them you've seen me, although perhaps not my location for the present. I would very much like to see them both, though, as soon as that can safely be arranged." Sophia sighed. "I'm not to answer calls or texts at present; Lord Arilan would have a fit if I gave away this location to terrorists! But we're working on other arrangements, since of course I want to get settled into a new home and center of government as soon as possible, so please tell Eilonwy I'll ring her up once it's safe. I don't think I've got Jen's current number, so Eilonwy can pass the message on to her as well." Rising, she added, "Please excuse me" before walking purposefully across the room toward Lady Alicia and Peter Astari.

Peter began to rise shakily to his feet, but Sophia waved him down, drawing a chair towards him and Alicia instead. "Let me check your vital signs, Mr Astari, and then I think I'm going to need a few words with you both." After a quick check, she added, "Breathing good, pulse strong . . . . Now, just why exactly did you feel the need to endanger two Healers' careers by insisting on being moved out of hospital and under extreme secrecy, Mr Astari? And am I to start off my reign with worries hovering over my head that it might get out I've been sucked into participating in some sort of cover-up scandal?" At Alicia's horrified look, she gave the lady a wry smile and added, "Didn't think about that, did you?"

"We . . .we didn't think about you being here, Your Majesty!"

"No, I imagine not, under the circumstances. I suppose survival was your first priority, followed immediately afterwards - for reasons unknown to me but which I'd dearly love to know about - by covering your collective backsides." Sophia sighed. "So, now that all's done and in the past, could you at least inform me of _why_ you all thought this was necessary? I should at least like to know how to reply if the RHR Board of Inquiry should discover what has transpired and lodges a complaint against your Healers, or simply decides to summarily fire them. What extraordinary circumstances should I plead on their behalf? Not to mention on behalf of the Detective Inspector you roped into assisting you, whose job is equally on the line if his participation is ever discovered?"

Peter exchanged a rueful smile with Alicia before returning his attention to his Queen. "My most profound apologies, Your Majesty. As coadjutor for our assembly, I take full responsibility for our actions. This is definitely not how I ever planned on introducing you to the existence of our Council."

"And the name of your Council?"

"The Camberian Council." He paused, looking at her hopefully. "Did Her late Majesty ever happen to mention our existence to you?"

Sophia stopped to think. "No, I don't believe she ever did. Though that doesn't mean I've never heard of your Council. Or at least I've heard speculations about its existence. So tell me more about the purpose of this Council, and why you have gone to so many pains to keep it secret."

"That, Ma'am, may take a little while."

She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest. "Then it's a good thing, Mr Astari, that I'm not planning on going anywhere."

* * *

 _Evening  
Tre-Arilan  
The Dining Room  
December 17, 2021_

"All rise for the heir and successor to her late Majesty Queen Araxelle, Queen Sophia Morgana Anastasia von Horthy Haldane Formacek, Queen of Gwynedd, Princess of Meara, and Lady of the Purple March," Lord James Arilan addressed the small group of people seated in his dining room.

Queen Sophia the Second of Gwynedd entered the room, surveying the faces gathered around Lord Arilan's table. This was not what she would have envisioned for her first Royal Council, not that she ever imagined herself heading up such a meeting, but for the moment this national emergency council would have to do.

She sat, inclining her head at the assemblage in silent acknowledgement, signaling her permission for them to be seated. "First things first. Now that we are no longer in danger of our host and house guests all dying in the parlor, I've been given to understand we've had a break-in here earlier this morning, quite likely by the same woman who attacked the Camberian Council chamber even earlier, given that poor Mr. Whitfield was used as the unwitting means for entering both Portals. Mr Carbury, thank you for your swift handling of that situation." Sophia looked around at the odd assemblage of mostly unfamiliar faces. "I believe the intruder is now in the Duke of Corwyn's custody?" Sophia felt a pang as she considered her cousin's absence. She had hoped he would be here with her this evening to lend her his silent support, but under the circumstances, it would hardly be prudent to have her legal heir remain by her side if Tre-Arilan's security had been breached. If one person had managed to gain the Portal's unique signature, then she may have shared that information with others.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Carbury affirmed. "His Grace wished to bring her to Corwyn so she would not pose a threat to your safety. Or to Mr Whitfield's."

"I should like to be apprised of any information that you might discover about that incident. Has my presence here become known, or is the timing of her intrusion simply an unfortunate coincidence?"

"We don't know yet, Ma'am," Carbury informed her, "but I will certainly keep you updated on the situation."

"Thank you. And how is Mr Whitfield now?"

"Healer Dr Al-Sayid is still attempting to ascertain that, Ma'am," Healer O'Flynn replied.

"All right. Now for our second order of business." She looked around the table, making eye contact with most of the newly-Healed members of the Camberian Council, although Violet was still too weakened from the recent ordeal to attend with the other Councillors. Sophia smiled at Maureen briefly before continuing her perusal of the other faces around the table. She had been startled to find Lord Arilan and Father Devlin among the unexpected influx of acrinious gas attack survivors that had been brought in earlier in the day, and was relieved to see them both looking apparently no worse for wear after Healer O'Flynn's ministrations, aside from the same lingering cough that continued to plague the other survivors. Mr Astari had, upon realizing there would be little advantage to continuing to hide the Council's existence from her despite his hopes to continue keeping it hidden from nearly everyone else, readily confessed that they were all members of a highly-classified Deryni organization devoted to the preservation of the Deryni race, that they had been meeting at least in part due to their concern for her own continued preservation, and that her mother had been well aware of their group's existence. Although she lacked her mother's ability to Truth-Read, he had shown her the late Queen's private phone number in his contacts list, which definitely appeared to be convincing evidence to support his claim. Araxelle had given her private number to very few people, and certainly to no one who did not need to be able to have immediate access to her at all times. This had helped to dispel the last of Sophia's lingering suspicious about the group's purpose.

"Given these new breaches of security which have not only thrown us together but have also made even this gathering place less safe for us to remain in, it seems more urgent than ever to relocate not simply myself, but the seat of my government to a location that can be more easily protected." Glancing at James, she added, "Not that I fault Tre-Arilan's measures in the least, Lord Arilan, but it was never intended to be a fortress, let alone become a sanctuary for an entire Royal Court." Turning her attention back to the full assembly, she added, "Fortunately, even prior to today's events Lord Arilan and Mr Carbury - foreseeing the need for a more permanent solution - had already spent several hours in close conference with my armsmen Sergeant Henry Carlisle and Corporal Michael Prior, coming up with a plan for preparing Eirian House, the traditional summer residence for the House of Haldane since the 13th Century, to become the permanent seat for my Court. Since it has been in frequent use by my family up to present times, it is already quite well secured. With their help, I look forward to seeing its security arrangements improved." She cast a grateful smile upward at the two armsmen who had escorted her into the room and who even now stood guard over her as she presided over this emergency council. "However, today's turn of events now highlight the need to escalate our original timetable. For this, ladies and gentlemen of the Camberian Council, We request and require your assistance." Her Royal emphasis on the pronoun was faint yet unmistakable.

"I understand that at certain times in the past, the aims and goals of your Council and those of my Haldane forebears may have at times diverged. I suppose it is also possible that they may yet diverge again at some future time. But if, as Mr Astari has informed me, your chief aim is to ensure both the safekeeping of Derynikind while at the same time upholding a stalwart defense of non-Deryni humanity - a goal first set forth by that saint whose name your Council bears, _Sanctus Camberus Defensor Humanum_ \- then I can assure you that Our chief aim is the same. Whatever differences we might have, it would appear we now share a common enemy. Let us therefore focus at this time on that which unites us and gives us common cause rather than upon any matter which might threaten to divide our strength."

Sophia took a deep breath, waiting to see if any present would challenge her statement, but it seemed that all were in at least cautious agreement. She exhaled quietly and continued on. "Finally, it seems imperative that I assume my Haldane powers as soon as may be arranged. Unfortunately, I have no notion where I might find the Ring of Fire, the Crimson Lion, and the Eye of Rom, or even if these insignia still exist. I shall need your assistance with this."

She swept the circle of faces with her glance, her gaze coming to rest on Father Devlin. She smiled briefly before adding a final comment. "Above all, my lords, ladies, and gentlemen, I humbly request your prayers over the days to come."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

 _Morning  
Tre-Arilan-The Queen's chamber  
A short distance west of Rhemuth  
December 18, 2021_

"Your Majesty, I have some good news and some that is not so good, but I think we can fix that in short order."

Sophia II of Gwynedd toyed with her hot buttered croissant as she looked up from a news article reporting the known casualties and survivors thus far from the Rhemuth Castle bombing. Her appetite, it seemed, had become a casualty also. "What sort of good and not-so-good news, James?" She waved the croissant in the vague direction of an empty chair. "Don't hover. I haven't had my morning caffeine yet." She displayed a wan smile to take the sting out of her words.

James Arilan laughed. "Don't tell me that Carbury forgot to offer you tea or coffee? He's slipping! Shall I remedy the lack?"

"He's had a great deal on his mind," said Sophia, "what with queens and other home invaders landing on his doorstep, but no, he brought me some coffee earlier. I've just let it get cold, I'm afraid."

"Well, that's something I can handle readily enough, even if I'm not Carbury. I'll get you a fresh cup. But before I do, I think you'll want to hear the good news."

"Yes, please. I'm in desperate need of some."

James wore a beatific smile. "Your Lord Chamberlain survived the Rhemuth Castle attack. As a matter of fact, he wasn't on the premises at the time, so once he discovered what had happened, he went straight up to Eirian House in order to prepare it for your presumed arrival. He figured that's where you would be headed as soon as your armsmen deemed it safe for you to make the brief journey north. He and Henry are coordinating the last of the security upgrades right now, but suffice it to say we are several days ahead of schedule."

"My Lord Cham. . . " Sophia blinked away sudden tears. "The Earl of Culdi is _alive?_ "

"Alive and quite well, Ma'am. He's sent you a message; Carbury has it. He's downstai-" James broke off as the Queen leaped out of bed and launched herself at him, planting a delighted kiss soundly on his cheek before flying out the door and down the corridor. He blinked in startled bemusement before turning to see Michael Prior's amused look.

"I'd say Her Majesty is pleased," Michael joked before heading out the door at a somewhat more sedate pace.

* * *

 _Morning  
Patrick and Eilonwy Adams' flat  
December 18, 2021_

Maureen McLain-Sheehan reclined against several plump pillows on her daughter's sofa as Eilonwy fussed over her. "Could I get you more tea, Mum?" she asked, a concerned frown furrowing her brow.

"No, sweetheart. Sit." Maureen smiled encouragement at her daughter. "Relax. I'm perfectly fine now; I just need to take it easier than usual for the next day or two, but I'm hardly an invalid!"

"You could have been. Mum, you could have died!"

"Well, I haven't, now have I?" Maureen said practically. "So stop fretting." She stifled a yawn.

"Still tired out from yesterday, or did you have trouble sleeping last night?" Patrick asked, seated at the dining table with a scone in one hand while scrolling through a data file on his laptop with the other. " _I_ certainly did." He had pled a sudden illness to explain his abrupt departure from his official duties the afternoon before, a ruse that his Chief had evidently discovered no reason to doubt. It did not, however, seem to have excused him from his current assignment of sifting through Captain Coris's forensics report for evidence of Unregistereds at Rhemuth Castle. His supervisor had helpfully encrypted and uploaded the report to him via their office's secure server to work on from home while confined to his sick bed. Lucky him.

"Actually, I didn't have any trouble falling asleep, despite all that's happened in the past few days," Maureen answered. "It's staying asleep that's been the problem, and I'm afraid it's been going on for several days now. I keep having nightmares."

"About the Castle bombing?" Jen asked, looking sympathetic. "That one's been waking me up at night too."

"No, it's not that at all, although I have the strangest feeling that they're connected!" Maureen closed her eyes. "In this nightmare, I dream that I'm a small child - a boy, I think he is - and I'm trapped in a dark, damp place. I'm hungry and terrified, and every once in a while I can hear voices, but there's one voice in particular that I keep listening out for, only it doesn't come. It hasn't come for a while, and I'm scared that it will and even more scared that it won't." She opened her eyes again to look at her son-in-law. "I'm starting to worry that it's more than just a dream, but I don't know what it means. Yesterday's events had almost driven it from my mind, but Peter mentioned something just before the gas attack about a missing person's case involving a little boy. O'Marley, O'Malley . . . ."

"Colin O'Malley?" Patrick sat up a bit straighter. "It's him you think you're seeing?"

"Well, not _seeing_ exactly," Maureen said, grimacing slightly. "If I could see him, I could draw him and perhaps see where he is. It's _not_ seeing him that's been driving me half mad! But that sounds like the right name. Are you working that case?"

"No, I don't do Missing Persons, but I know someone in the Rhemuth bureau. Maybe I could get you connected with whoever's on that case up in Marbury."

"I think-" Maureen's thoughts whirled furiously. Before yesterday, anything brought up in a Council meeting was considered privileged, not to be discussed with others outside of the Council, even close family, without the express consent of the group, unless perhaps it was a matter that one could disclose without mentioning the Council's interest and involvement. But now, with the Council's existence no longer deniable, given that Patrick at least had been inside the Council chamber itself and now knew all of the Councillors' identities, the rules had shifted dramatically. She wished that Peter were here to consult with, but she hoped he would accept her judgment call. She felt sure that if this missing child was in some way connected to the man who had entered Rhemuth Castle through its Transfer Portal in order to destroy it, then he had to be found quickly, both for his own safety and in order to bring whoever had been behind that plot to swift justice.

"Patrick, it's just a hunch right now, but I believe that your case and this one might actually be connected. I believe Colin O'Malley's father is - or at least _was_ \- a man named Lloyd O'Malley, the same Lloyd O'Malley who was fired from the Royal Treasury a year or two ago for embezzlement. If that's the case, then Mr O'Malley might have had motive to destroy Rhemuth Castle, even at the cost of his own life - _especially_ if his son was being held hostage in order to ensure his cooperation."

"But surely, if someone kidnapped the boy just to gain his father's cooperation, they'd have let him go by now. He's served his purpose," Jen ventured.

"That's one way of looking at it. Unfortunately, another way to see it is that he's outlived his usefulness," said Patrick.

* * *

 _Morning  
Coroth Castle's dungeon  
December 18, 2021_

"I haven't seen anything like it before," Morgan Haldane admitted to Healer Dr Karim Al-Sayid as they descended the narrow stone staircase that led down to Coroth Castle's ancient dungeon. "Even though Carbury and I caught her in the act of trying to break into Tre-Arilan, she has no memory of the event. Even when I use Truth-Say on her, she denies any knowledge of trespassing or of what she has done to Mr Whitfield. Everything she has told me under questioning stands up to a Truth-Reading, so she clearly believes it."

"After seeing the damage done to Mr Whitfield's mind," Karim replied, "it's pretty clear from piecing together his memories that she was the one who violated his psychic defenses. Does she remember any of that?"

"Not one bit, from what I can determine. She claims to be happily married to Tom Whitfield, and that she last saw him on the morning of the 16th. Incidentally, she also seems to be missing a day."

"Hm. Interesting. Perhaps Mr Whitfield's is not the only mind that has been tampered with. Let's have a look, shall we?"

* * *

 _Morning  
St. George Street Mission  
Father Devlin's flat  
December 18, 2021_

He was back, finally, at the mission where despite the usual cascade of crises and even downright mayhem he felt most at peace. Maggie had wondered about his overnight absence, so atypical of him (at least without him calling to check in with her), but he had explained it by telling her that he'd received a middle-of-the-night call from a friend requesting pastoral care, and that there had ended up being a severe illness involved with an uncertain prognosis, so he had not been able to break away until early this morning. It was the truth, for the most part, although Devlin felt guilty about the lies of omission nonetheless.

After taking care of the most urgent matters at hand, Devlin had slipped upstairs to his rooms to spend a few minutes in prayer. After a short period of quiet communion with God, he felt the turmoil within begin to ease a bit, although he still felt that he had more questions for God than he'd received any answers for despite his attempts to still the roiling chaos of his thoughts and simply open his heart to receive guidance. That was fine. He'd learned years ago to trust God to answer in His own good time.

He rose, slipping off his jacket and crossing the room to hang it on the rack just inside his door. As he turned, his gaze fell on the framed wedding photograph on the end table nearby.

He walked over to the sofa, sitting heavily on the edge of it, and picked the portrait up to study it more closely. He looked impossibly young in that photo; he and Suzanne both did. It seemed half a lifetime ago, not just nine years since that wedding day. Neither of them had had a clue, had they, about what they were getting into. They'd thought they'd known, of course. He smiled in wistful memory as he traced the soft curve of Suzanne's cheek with a fingertip, then closed his eyes.

They had only been at the St George Street Mission for a few short months before the first tiny fractures had begun to form in their relationship. Oh, they'd still loved each other madly, but love could not change the reality that their new lives here on the streets in one of the poorest neighborhoods of urban Rhemuth had been a far cry from what either of them had expected, given their more sheltered suburban upbringings. Life and ministry at the mission were nothing at all like parish life at the Church of Saint Barnabas the Encourager, where they had first met and later married. Devlin had thrived on the differences, though, and found the mission rich soil for personal and spiritual growth. Suzanne, unfortunately, had not. Eventually the fractures formed enough of a rift between them that both had attempted to bridge, but some days had been more of a struggle than others.

And then they'd learned there was a baby on the way. Devlin had been thrilled, yet his joy was mixed with a fair bit of trepidation, for he knew that even so happy an occasion as the birth of a child would bring with it more stress as well, and he was uncertain how much more strain his relationship with his bride could handle. Suzanne had felt overwhelmed by the news. She'd wanted to be overjoyed, but she found herself crying more and more with each passing day, then feeling guilty about not being able to live up to her own expectations of how she ought to feel about becoming a new mum. She'd also been worried about the environment they'd be bringing their child home to.

It had all come to a head one evening. Devlin had come home late one night, having been called away from the mission before the evening meal by one of his lads who had been picked up for shoplifting and taken down to the police station for a stern talking-to before being released with a warning into his custody. By the time he had brought the lad back to the mission and then returned to his upstairs flat, he had been hungry, weary, and quite cross. Finding Suzanne weeping and packing a travel bag had not improved his mood.

"I'm going up to Mum's for a bit," she'd informed him. "Mrs Munger rang, by the way, to chide me for not being in church last Sunday."

"You were throwing up all morning, as I recall. Did she volunteer to hold a basin for you?"

Suzanne hadn't laughed as she might have a few months earlier. She'd folded another blouse and placed it in the bag. "I'm tired of living in the fishbowl, Dev. I'm going home. I need some time to sort things out."

He'd not had the patience to deal with her, not just then. "I see. Well, in case you've forgotten, _this_ is our home now."

"This is _your_ home, maybe. I never signed on for this." Tears had welled up in her eyes. "Maybe you can ring up the Bishop tomorrow. There's got to be some other parish that can use a priest! Someplace more like Saint Barnabas."

That, Devlin knew, might neatly solve some of his wife's problems with his current assignment, but far from all of them. No matter where he served, there would be the Mrs Mungers of the world. But he'd said nothing, because he knew she had moved past the point of listening. Perhaps after the weekend, once she'd had a chance to calm down a bit, he could reason with her or figure out what might be done to make life at the mission easier for her to cope with. But not right then.

He'd heard her walk past him, had somehow mustered up enough energy and caring to mutter a quiet "I love you," but as the words slipped past his lips, he'd heard the door close. Had she heard him? He'd never known. She'd been hit by a drunk motorist while standing on the curb outside the mission, killed instantly while waiting to hail a cab to take her to the public Portal down in Market Square.

Devlin opened his eyes again, bringing the top edge of the framed portrait to his lips briefly, almost prayerfully, before setting it back on the end table. He had never made that call to his Bishop, of course. After Suzanne's death it had been a moot point (not that he'd ever really wanted to make that call anyway). Ironically, it had been the Bishop who'd rung _him_ up to offer him a transfer not long thereafter, concerned that keeping Devlin in the neighborhood where his wife had died might hinder his emotional healing. Devlin had asked to stay. By then, he had thrown himself completely into his pastoral calling at the mission as his way of working through his grief and feelings of guilt. With time had come some measure of healing, and somewhere along the way the work he had begun here as a labor of idealistic duty had transformed fully into a labor of love, as he poured out the passion he had once lavished on his young bride into his ministry instead. Life at the mission had become no less easy, certainly, nor was life as a young widower somehow without its own set of associated problems, though both had ended up drawing him closer to God. As the years had passed since Suzanne's death, he had learned not simply how to be content, but how to be genuinely happy again.

And then James had rung him up at God-forsaken-thirty in the morning a day ago (had it only been that long?) and turned his world completely upside down again! Well, not James, precisely. No, it was that feisty, pint-sized Haldane who had managed to wedge her way in, turning everything topsy-turvy. But James certainly hadn't helped with his request as Devlin was leaving Tre-Arilan at sunrise this morning. "I think Her Majesty could still do with having a chaplain handy, at least until things settle enough for her to seek out someone on a more permanent basis. Think you could get your Bishop to give you a leave of absence for the next week or two?" The question had been posed innocently enough; despite their close friendship Devlin had never told James about his late wife's parting request, so James had had no way of knowing he'd brushed up against an old wound with the question-not that he'd proposed a permanent reassignment, but still, there'd been echoes of unwanted memories. But Devlin wasn't so sure that he was the best person to provide pastoral care for the grieving young Queen, no matter how temporary.

It wasn't simply that he found himself physically attracted to her. That by itself, he could handle well enough, he thought. He had the same drives as the next man, and his vow of chastity had certainly never meant the death of those desires, just a denial of them now that he had no wife to enjoy sharing those desires with. But while self-denial was occasionally frustrating for an unmarried priest barely into his third decade of life (and not to mention one who'd had to fend off an uncomfortable number of women on offer despite being a priest), he'd managed well enough thus far. No, it wasn't just the attractions of her face and form that made him wary of a closer connection with the bereaved young queen, it had also been his powerful attraction to her intelligence, her compassion for others despite her own deep sorrows, and that flash of passionate response to her own Divine calling that he'd seen flare in her eyes as she spoke to the Council the evening before, that made her such a potentially dangerous distraction for him. Could he possibly keep his own selfish interest in check and give her the objective care he ought to give to a woman in such an emotionally vulnerable state as Her Majesty was in?

 _Her Majesty._ Devlin stifled a laugh. Certainly she was more of a threat to his emotional state than he could ever be to hers! A mere Associate Priest at an urban mission would hardly even register on the Royal radar once the national emergency had passed. No, now he was just being ridiculous. He'd probably cause her no harm by helping her through this early transitional period of her reign; the harm would more likely be only to his own peace of mind, that was all.

One thing was certain, at least. He'd never have to worry about how she'd react to being carried over the threshold of his flat here at the Saint George Mission. His humor restored, he chuckled over the mental image as he headed back downstairs to see if Maggie had anything left over from breakfast.

* * *

 _Later Morning  
Coroth Castle  
The Green Tower-Morgan's study  
December 18, 2021_

"So, what's your diagnosis?" Morgan Haldane asked Healer Dr Karim Al-Sayid once the two Deryni had reached the privacy of Morgan's personal study in the Green Tower.

Karim took an appreciative look around the room before answering. Despite the comfortable modern furnishings, there was an aura of ancient power that seemed to permeate the very walls of this room, and enough remained of the personal decor preferences of previous Morgans and more recent Haldanes for him to feel almost as if he'd somehow managed to take a Transfer Portal back through an entire family's history.

"Is my green gryphon tapestry that fascinating, Karim?" Morgan asked with a chuckle in his voice, recalling Karim back to present-day Corwyn.

"Well, I've always thought you had something of a medieval presence about you, Your Grace, and now I know why," Karim replied with a grin, sinking into a green sofa so comfortable that he half wished he could remain seated for the rest of his life. "My diagnosis? Well, it would seem that we are dealing with a case of severe dissociation - an unusual sort of dissociative identity disorder, or what used to be known as multiple personality disorder - but it's further complicated by having been magically induced."

"I see. So which personality is her original one?"

Karim grimaced. "Hard to say, since it's not quite that straightforward, but 'Caroline,' I think. She's the one you've got in your dungeon at the moment, not the crazy bitch who lobbed a gas grenade into a room full of people before trying to take on Tre-Arilan's defenses. The other personality calls herself Alisandra. She's been dormant for years, but there have been verbal triggers set to call her forth. Some have been activated quite recently, and I managed to deactivate some others, but I'd really like O'Flynn to take a closer look at her and see if I've managed to miss any. Whoever did this to her was highly skilled. This divergent personality has been a very long time in the making. I don't suppose you happen to have any contacts in the Camberian Police Force?"

"No, I'm pretty lacking in Camberian contacts. Most of Camberia has a bit of a chip on the shoulder when it comes to Gwyneddan nobility and Haldanes in particular, so I'm not very high up on their list of Gwyneddans to cultivate a friendly acquaintance with. Why the Camberian Police Force?"

"Because a peek at their Missing Persons records might be useful, particularly around the early to mid-1990s time frame. From what I've gleaned from her memories, the child Caroline Alisandra Sheraton was abducted at a very young age and carefully groomed and tampered with to create her alter persona. Neither personality has a conscious memory of this, by the way, so it's a bit harder to bring the pieces of her history to the foreground."

"That's . . . beyond vile," Morgan managed.

"Isn't it, just? That should tell you something about the sort of man we're dealing with."

"Definitely a man, then?"

"Oh yes. I caught several glimpses of him, but I'm having to work around lots of blocked memories, and I've had to neutralize a fair few Death Triggers to get past them, which is not unlike waltzing through a field of landmines whilst catching a flying grenade in mid-air to put the pin back in, so it's been fiddly work; I don't highly recommend it. His name is Malcolm - or at least that's the name she knows him by - and 'Alisandra' fancies herself in love with him. He's father, teacher, trainer, confidant, and lover, all wrapped up in one convenient package."

Morgan arched a blond eyebrow. "Well, that's dysfunctional as high-octane hell, isn't it?"

Karim chortled. "That's one way of looking at it. 'Caroline,' on the other hand, has been drawing from a deep well of artificial memories to fill in the gaps between her abduction and her arrival in Gwynedd. Finding out she's been hosting this second personality all along has come as a severe shock."

"I would imagine. So is there any way of eliminating the . . . shall we say, parasitic personality without killing off the host?"

"Well . . . it's not quite so simple as all that, unfortunately. While it might be possible for us to remove the 'Alisandra' personality altogether, it might actually be in the patient's best interests to attempt reintegrating the personalities, if that can be done safely and without blending back in the destructive elements of the 'Alisandra' side. We don't want her to _remain_ a radical Camberian terrorist, of course."

"Why would you want to reintegrate her at all?"

"Because this really isn't as simple as merely removing 'Bad Alisandra' from 'Good Caroline.' During the original splitting of the young girl's psyche into two separate individuals who happen to inhabit the same body, quite a few positive traits ended up dominant in 'Alisandra' and a fair few weaknesses ended up dominant in 'Caroline.' So rather than keep one and eliminate the other, if at all possible we'd rather look at only removing the parts of her psyche that are damaged beyond any possibility of repair - like excising a tumor, let's say - and restoring what's left over to become a whole individual again: someone approximating the adult that the original Caroline Alisandra Sheraton might have grown up to become, had she been left untampered with from the beginning."

"Sounds like a pretty tall order."

"Yes. Fascinating case, really."

"You're sure you're the man for the task? From what Carbury has told me, the 'Alisandra' half of her very nearly killed your lady love, after all, or might have at least if Lady Alicia hadn't been late for that meeting."

"Not all of 'Alisandra,' just the parts of her psyche that I prefer to think of as 'the tumor.'" Karim flashed a feral grin. "Once I've consulted with O'Flynn and we figure out some strategy for how to do that safely, I'm looking forward to obliterating that nasty tumor all to hell and gone."

Morgan smiled back. "Good man! Can you do me just one little favor, if at all possible?"

"What's that, Sir?"

"Before you cut out that 'tumor,' see if there's any way to track it back to its source. I would dearly _love_ to ensure that diabolical bastard never causes harm to another living soul - not even in thrice-bedamned Camberia."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

 _Late morning  
Tre-Arilan  
Just west of Rhemuth  
December 18, 2021_

"Good morning, Healer . . . O'Flynn, is it?" James Arilan looked startled as he happened upon the young woman who was wandering through the guest wing corridor, apparently counting doors. It took him a moment to recognize who she was, despite that unmistakable shock of ginger curls bobbing around her shoulders. The Healer wasn't wearing scrubs today, so he'd briefly wondered if he had yet another unexpected home invader, but he'd almost immediately afterwards sensed her benign intent.

The Healer turned, her sunny smile almost blinding. James stifled a laugh; the T-shirt she wore over very nicely-fitted jeans read "Old Healers never die, they just lose their patience."

Noticing the direction of his gaze, she gave a wry smile. "Yeah, this probably wasn't the best choice of shirt for me to wear today, when I'm here to check on Lady Violet. Let's just hope it's not predictive!" Belatedly remembering the question, she blushed, the heightened color adding a rosy glow to her cheeks. "And yes - sorry, my lord - I'm Healer O'Flynn. Or Heather, when I'm off duty. Which I am, technically at any rate." She looked back down the corridor in bewilderment. "Ah . . . Which room have you stashed her in, again?"

"Third on the right. Shall I escort you in?"

"Oh, no, that's quite all right, Lord Arilan, I don't wish to be a bother!"

"You're not a bother at all, especially if you are here with the welcome news that you're about to discharge Lady Violet." He grinned. "She's awake this morning and especially cranky. Consider yourself forewarned."

"And how is your cough, by the way, my lord?"

"Much improved, though you're welcome to check me out thoroughly." James gave the pretty Healer his most inviting smile.

She laughed. "No need. I can see you're feeling much better now than when we met yesterday."

"Well, allow me to introduce you to your patient, since she wasn't in any state to recognize you yesterday, then I'll slink off to nurse my wounds." James opened the door for the Healer and gestured for her to enter. Following behind her, he informed the querulous patient glaring at them from her guest bed, "Lady Violet, Healer O'Flynn has stopped in to check on you."

"Oh? Then she can let me go while she's here. I've got things I need to do at home."

"Let's have a look at you, then, shall we? Then I can let you know if you can leave this afternoon or if you need an extra day or two of bed rest."

"There's nothing at all wrong with me," Violet declared. "I'm just tired, that's all!"

"Well, that's to be expected; you had a very nasty case of hardly breathing yesterday, and oxygen deprivation will do that to a person." Heather O'Flynn produced a stethoscope from her purse. "So I'll just have a listen to your breathing . . . ."

Violet pointed a bony but immaculately manicured finger toward James. " _You_ can leave, my boy! I'm sure you've seen enough women's breasts, you needn't stick around to ogle mine."

James rapidly made his exit, there being no other safe response, and in any case he felt he needed to beat a hasty retreat lest he burst out laughing in the irate septuagenarian's presence.

* * *

 _Afternoon, Rhemuth Standard Time  
(Middle of the night, Camberian Standard Time)  
A private home  
St. Michael's Province, Camberia  
December 18, 2021 (December 19 in Camberia)_

"Have you found the boy yet?" Malcolm Atherton paced the floor of his palatial home in Jorian Heights, idly enjoying the panoramic view outside through the window wall of his great hall while questioning his vassal over the phone. The mansion was built on the edge of a large, extinct caldera. Gleaming white, warded homes looking like scattered pearls shone through the lush greenery of the foliage filling the sloped bowl of the landscape before him, the roads connecting them winding along crater base and slope like tangled chains. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the faint shimmer of the protective wards that surrounded his own property and kept it protected from the more lethal forms of indigenous wildlife, not to mention a few equally lethal neighbors. He turned from the picturesque beauty to focus on his lackey's reply.

"No, Your Grace. I've attempted to scry for him several times, but I keep getting the same vision: a damp, confined space with near-total darkness. There's nothing to indicate if he's still in Marley or has been relocated elsewhere, although I had a business meeting in Rhorau last night and could only catch a fleeting vision of him from the Rhendall region, so my best guess is that he is still somewhere in the Marbury area. At least he's someplace close enough to Rhorau that I could manage to see a glimpse of him at all, so not likely to have been moved out of Northeastern Gwynedd."

"That still covers an awful lot of territory. You're certain the boy's not dead yet? He's running out of time." Malcolm had great difficulty reining in his impatience. "If you can find him, he could be very useful to me."

A long pause. "The weekend is coming up, Your Grace. I can drive throughout Marley and the surrounding area, see where I can sense the child more vividly. That should help me narrow down some possible locations. But finding him will still be like finding that proverbial needle in the haystack. Unless, perhaps, you might have some personal belonging of the boy that I could use to help me focus in on him?

Malcolm thought. "I'll see if one of my other vassals can gain access to the lad's home, perhaps while the mother is at work."

"Also, Your Grace, about travel expenses . . . ?" There was a discreet cough from the other end of the line.

"Consider them covered. I'll have some extra funds transferred to your account. Around GR 250 ought to cover mileage and food for the weekend, I imagine?"

"Two-hundred and fifty Gwyneddan royals ought to do _quite_ nicely, Your Grace."

* * *

 _Early afternoon  
The Saint George Street Mission  
City of Rhemuth  
December 18, 2021_

Father Devlin O'Shiele was in his downstairs office when the desk phone rang. "St. George Street Mission," he answered somewhat absently.

"It's the auxiliary bishop on the line, Father," Maggie informed him. "I know you requested no interruptions unless it was urgent, but shall I go on and put her through?"

He sat up straighter, pushing the budgetary report he was working on out of his mind. "Yes, please." He waited until the call was transferred, then said, "Father Devlin speaking. How may I help you, My Lady Bishop?"

There was a faint undercurrent of laughter in the voice that answered him. "Well, you _could_ satisfy my curiosity by informing me of why someone calling on behalf of Her Majesty has just requested a secondment for you. I'm having the most astonishing visions of you providing her with safe sanctuary in St. George Street, but surely that's not the case, is it?"

He was torn between utter astonishment that the Queen had had someone contact his bishop to request a temporary assignment to her service and amusement at the ludicrous mental image that Bishop Sarah's words conjured up. Amusement won out, and he laughed as well. "No, it wasn't _quite_ like that, Ma'am." His mind raced as he tried to figure out a safe version of the truth to tell her. "The man charged with her security during this emergency period just happens to be a friend of mine. He rang me up yesterday morning to ask if I might be available to provide pastoral care to Her Majesty, since her original chaplain was one of the casualties of the Rhemuth Castle attack. I suppose she's just decided it would be easiest to keep me on to fill in until she's found a permanent chaplain." He paused. "So . . . ah . . . what did you say?"

Again, that merry laugh rang forth on the other end of the line. "Well, I was hardly going to turn down Her Majesty's request, now was I?" Sobering, she added, "I'll send Father Lachlan Reilly to the Mission to handle things there for the duration. Until the end of January, let's say, and then we can re-evaluate once HM settles into . . . well, wherever it is she'll be settling into now - Eirian House, I presume?"

Unsure whether he was free to confirm her guess, he simply made a noncommittal sound, quickly adding, "And when will the secondment become effective?"

"As soon as you can manage to bring Father Reilly up to speed. I've just got off the phone with him, so he should be on his way over there shortly." She paused before adding. "Please inform Her Majesty that she is very much in my prayers."

 _I could use a few of those prayers as well, My Lady Bishop!_ he thought to himself.

* * *

 _Early afternoon  
Royal Metropolitan Police Department  
Missing Persons Bureau  
December 18, 2021_

"So anyway," Lady Maureen told the detective to whom her son-in-law had introduced her, "although I can't exactly _see_ in my dreams where the boy has been confined, I've tried to sketch out a rough idea of what I could gather by feel, since I've been dreaming from the child's point of view." She handed over a drawing pad full of rough sketches.

DI Alexander Montague skimmed through the sketches. Although, as Maureen had indicated, they were sparse on details, the drawings all showed the boy confined in a very narrow space. He had some room to move around, but not much. A pipe near the boy's feet seemed to be the source of what little air and light reached the enclosed space; in some sketches, there was enough light to reveal plywood walls on that end of the . . . room? No, it was more like a large box. Montague shuddered. Had the abductor simply built the lad a makeshift coffin, with no intent to go back for him? But that made no sense either. Had that been the plan, then why go to the bother of installing a vent?

He tapped a few keys on his computer keyboard as he replied to his Deryni visitor. "And you say you think this is the missing O'Malley boy? Well, let's see who is primary on the O'Malley case . . . . Ah, here she is. Mary Hamilton, up in Marbury. She has a reputation as a thorough investigator, though perhaps somewhat hampered by not having some of the resources at hand that we Deryni have." He smiled at Maureen. "Let's see if we can help her a bit, shall we? May I send these on to her?"

"Oh, absolutely! That's why I brought them in; I hoped they might help. The only thing is, I'm not entirely sure it's the same boy. What if he's a different missing child?"

"Whoever he might be, he's clearly in need of rescue," Montague said. "Hm. Let me try something. Doesn't always work, and it would really help if we had something belonging to the boy, but these sketches might help narrow things down a bit. Follow me." He led Maureen over to a small room containing a small table and several chairs, as well as a large bookcase containing various reference books and manuals situated along one wall. From the bookcase he selected a large atlas, returning to the table to open the book to reveal a large map of Gwynedd and the surrounding nations. "Let's start here, shall we? It might help to see if this missing lad is even in the Kingdom at all."

He reached into his shirt pocket, pulling out a chain from which dangled a long, conical pendant. Holding the chain over the atlas with one hand directly above Valoret, he lay the other hand over the open sketch pad, closing his eyes and focusing his thoughts on the boy's location. After nearly a minute, the pendulum began to swing diagonally upward and somewhat to the right. Sensing the motion, he slowly opened his eyes.

"Interesting. That certainly seems to be pointing to the right region of the Kingdom, although it could be pointing beyond the Northern Sea as well. Let's see if we can narrow the focus a bit." He flipped a few pages until he found a page of the Old Kheldour region that encompassed Rhendall, Claibourne, the Kheldish Riding, and Marley. With the pendulum centered over this second map, he closed his eyes and tried again. This time it took a little longer for the pendulum to swing, but once it did, it began to move again, not quite in the direction of Marbury or even Marley, but more south-southeast of center, more towards Eastmarch or perhaps the Iomaire Plain.

He frowned, opening his eyes to confirm the direction of the pendulum's swing, and said, "Well, that's not quite what I expected. So he's been taken out of Marley, but hopefully not too far out. Let's see if I can triangulate for a closer fix on his position." Turning to another page revealing the central segment of Gwynedd's eastern border, he held the pendulum over the center of that page, somewhere over the Llyndruth Plain, and tried again. This time after the brief wait the pendulum began to swing due north.

"Iomaire area, then," Montague told Maureen, "or at least that's my best guess. I doubt it will give me a precise location from this far away, though I suppose it's worth a shot. He turned to a map of just the Iomaire Plain. "Excuse me, my lady, but I'll need a photocopier for this step. Chief will have my head if I mark up her atlas." He brought the book over to the photocopier and made a copy of the Iomaire Plain map, then returned the book to its shelf. "Lady Maureen, look in that drawer by your left elbow, would you, and bring me a sharp pencil and the ruler?"

Maureen procured the requested items from the specified drawer and brought them to Montague at the table. He sat with the photocopied map before him, taking a few deep, centering breaths. "All right, let's see what this tells us. I like to do each pass at least three times to make sure I'm getting an accurate read. If we were closer to the target area, I could be fairly sure of getting a fix on his position, but at this range he's going to be much harder to pinpoint."

The detective set the ruler along the bottom edge of the map, then lightly laid his fingertips on top of it. Closing his eyes, he focused his thoughts on the boy. The ruler crept slowly up the page until it reached a spot roughly two-thirds of the way up. After it remained motionless in that spot for a few seconds, Montague opened his eyes and, reaching for the pencil, lightly traced the upper edge of the ruler, leaving a line across the page. Turning the map ninety degrees, he lined up the ruler with the bottom edge again, repeating the process. This time, after the ruler stopped and he drew his line along the upper edge, he marked the spot where the lines crossed, and then turned the map again, repeating the process. After several turns and passes, Montague had three sets of crossed lines on the page.

"Yes, that's what I figured," he told Lady Maureen after he had opened his eyes the final time. "The grouping is close, but the crossed lines don't exactly converge. It would be interesting to see what results might be gotten from within Iomaire itself, especially at local street map level." He smiled up at Maureen. "I'll send this on to DI Hamilton along with your sketches. Perhaps someone on her end of things can narrow down the search from there."

* * *

 _Early afternoon  
Patrick and Eilonwy Adams' flat  
City of Rhemuth  
December 18, 2021_

"That looks a right mess," Eilonwy observed as she peeked over her husband's shoulder at his laptop screen. "What's all that data supposed to mean? I thought you were still working the Rhemuth Castle attack."

"I am," Patrick assured her, "or at least this is related." He stretched, stifling a yawn. Poring over Capt. Coris's data was boring work, though that was not entirely Alicia's fault. He suspected that the Chief had unloaded this assignment on him at least in part because learning how to read the complex code strings was a far more tedious task than the Chief was willing to learn. Alicia could have generated a far more readable version of the report, Patrick knew, but given that she shared his own pique at the Chief of Anti-Terrorism's piggy-backing of his personal anti-Unregistereds obsession onto the more serious concerns at hand, she had probably gone out of her way to make her required report as obtuse as possible. Not that Unregistered Deryni were never a security threat to the Kingdom; after all, any Deryni would have a much easier time getting away with criminal behavior if their unique DNA code was not already to be found in the official registry to be cross-checked against physical evidence left at a crime scene. But in Patrick's experience Unregistereds were no more likely to cause serious threats than anyone else maintaining an illegal presence in Gwynedd. There were reasons far removed from any malicious intent why a Deryni might choose to avoid being included in the Registry. Given some of the ways that official registry had been used against some Deryni individual and families in the past, not to mention some of the potential uses that various politicians and government officials had proposed over the years, one could hardly blame even otherwise law-abiding Deryni subjects from being leery of the Registry. Had the Chief broadened his focus to include human terrorist suspects, illegal immigrants, people whose criminal histories would have precluded them from having clearance to enter Rhemuth Castle, people known to have had a grudge against the Royal Family, and others who might warrant a closer look, this assignment would have made much more sense. Fortunately Alicia, being a more sensible sort than the Chief, had included those data as well, while at the same time concealing in plain sight certain information that neither Deryni planned on calling to the Chief's attention because there simply was no job-related reason to do so.

The data thus far were telling him very little that he hadn't already figured out by other means. He cross-referenced the lab results with the list of victims known to have been at Rhemuth Castle, striking those persons from the list after a quick perusal of each to see if they had any known reasons for disaffection with the Royal Family. One name and code string stopped him briefly in his work - it was the firstborn of the Prince of Meara's infants, who might well have grown to be his King someday were it not for this brutality that had cut his life far too short. For a moment Patrick allowed himself to remember that these were all people - innocent victims of a horrific crime - and not simply names and code strings on a spreadsheet. He murmured a brief prayer as he blinked away tears and continued on with his work.

* * *

 _Mid-afternoon  
Tre-Arilan's guest wing  
December 18, 2021_

Heather O'Flynn ventured back out into the long corridor, taking a tentative peek down one end of it and then the other, trying to remember which way led back to the ground floor. While she was not the best at figuring out directions, she was normally not quite this hopeless at it either. She suspected that Lord Arilan's unexpected appearance from behind her earlier had disconcerted her to the point of not paying proper attention to where she'd been going. He was undeniably gorgeous, she'd give him that. Problem was, she was fairly sure he knew it also, and in her experience that rarely boded well. She wasn't here to stroke an already over-inflated ego, no matter how attractively it was packaged.

Hearing voices just out of sight at one end of the hallway, she ventured in that direction. Sure enough, as she peeked around the corner, she found herself looking out onto the long gallery with its large staircase leading downstairs to the ground floor. At the central part of the gallery, facing the wall opposite the stairs and gallery railing, she saw two figures staring up at a collection of framed portraits.

"Yes, Ma'am," Lord Arilan was saying as the petite woman beside him pointed out a particular painting, "we believe that to be a likeness of Lord Sextus Arilan, first Earl of Braxton. You see that landscape behind him? According to family history, he proposed to the Baroness of Kinlochan up in that tree. Or, depending on which version of the story is told, she may have actually proposed to him."

The woman laughed, and as she stepped forward slightly to examine the portrait, Heather was mildly startled to see she was the Queen. She had remembered the Queen was in temporary residence at Tre-Arilan, of course, but for some reason finding her there in normal, everyday clothing was still a bit of a shock. She was well used to the sight of Dr Formacek in her white lab coat and black trousers, and she was also used to seeing elegant photographs of Princess Sophia in her glamorous evening gowns or in lovely tailored dresses and pert hats well suited for the visits she made to various charitable organizations that she sponsored. Her mind had managed some time back to almost completely dissociate the person of "Dr Formacek" from "Princess Sophia." But now the Queen of Gwynedd stood before her wearing a casual cable-knit tunic-dress and leggings, looking for all the world like anyone else about to venture out for a nice stroll, or perhaps heading out for a bit of shopping. The brief fantasy of herself walking through the Market Square District arm in arm with the Queen to shop for boots, scarves, and bangles flitted through her mind, causing her to giggle.

Both turned towards Heather. Her face turned warm. Sophia tilted her head, an inquiring smile on her face, waving her forward. "Come join us, Healer O'Flynn. We don't bite."

" _I_ might, but only upon request," Arilan affirmed.

The Queen rolled her eyes at him. "Behave, James." He laughed. Directing her gaze back to the Healer, she asked, "How is Lady Violet this afternoon? She was doing well enough this morning that I sent Elspeth off for a much-needed nap."

"She continues to improve, Ma'am. I was half tempted to go ahead and send her home, but . . . . " Heather broke off as she remembered who she was talking to.

Sophia arched a dark brow. "But?"

Heather's receding blush returned. "Well, she was carrying on so, demanding I allow her to leave, I decided to delay an extra day so she wouldn't think a temper tantrum would make me give in and bow to her wishes."

Both the Queen and Lord Arilan laughed. "Quite right, Healer. Although I do think she should be back to her old self by morning," Sophia said.

"Unfortunately," James muttered, gaining a mildly admonishing look from Her Majesty, although her lips twitched with what appeared to be suppressed amusement.

"While you're here, Healer," the Queen asked, "would _you_ say that Lord Arilan and Father Devlin would be fit enough at this point for strenuous activity? Not so much physically strenuous, as I understand it, but psychically draining?" She glanced at her host briefly before adding, "Lord Arilan is planning on re-energizing the Transfer Portal at Eirian House along with a few others - he has in mind Father Devlin, Mr Carbury, and I believe the Earl of Culdi?" She awaited James's confirming nod before continuing. "But considering the ordeal that Lord Arilan and Father Devlin have so recently been through, I should hate to overtax them if waiting another day or two would be better." With a wry smile up at her host, she added "I've strongly advised waiting until the beginning of next week, but _someone_ is being rather stubborn about it."

" _Someone_ would like to see you safely ensconced at Eirian House before any other unexpected arrivals decide to come wandering in looking for Your Majesty with not so benign intent," James replied. "I'm beginning to think somebody's diverted the M4 to run through my undercroft."

Heather thought the problem through, a mildly puzzled frown on her face. It would be best if Lord Arilan and Father Devlin were to wait a few more days before engaging in strenuous activities, psychic or otherwise, but on the other hand . . . . "My Lord, is there a reason why you and Father Devlin don't simply drive Her Majesty to Eirian House? It's not that long a trip, only, what, 30 or 40 miles from here? At least if you just cut through the outskirts of Rhemuth rather than going all the way back into the City and north from there, it's not so long a drive. You could stay on the back roads to avoid all the traffic and police checkpoints."

Sophie shot a triumphant look up at James. "See, that's what _I_ said, isn't it?"

"Right, Ma'am," James retorted. "Because no one would possibly recognize the Queen of Gwynedd through a car window."

"You can't Ward a car?" Sophia asked.

"Not unless you're planning on leaving it parked in the garage," James informed her. "A Moving Ward at walking speed is difficult enough to coordinate without having to sustain one while flying down the back roads of Gwynedd at speeds up to 60 MPH. And while my car has magically-enhanced bulletproof glass, it is also fairly conspicuous. Not the best vehicle to maintain a low profile in, I'm afraid."

"What about Father Devlin's car?" Heather asked. As both Lord Arilan and the Queen turned questioningly towards her, she waved her fingers in a circular motion around her own face, mouthing the words of a spell. As her light auburn hair and fair features transformed, giving her the illusion of being a dusky-complexioned, brown-eyed brunette, she added "If you wouldn't mind having a temporary makeover, Ma'am, I'm pretty sure we could manage to get you to Eirian House without attracting any attention at all."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

 _Late afternoon  
Tre-Arilan  
Just west of Rhemuth  
December 18, 2021_

"Good afternoon, Carbury." Father Devlin handed his car keys over to the butler before bending to retrieve his suitcase from the passenger seat.

"You'll not be needing that, Father," Carbury informed him. "At least not at present. Shall I unlock your boot and shift your case into the back for you?"

Devlin straightened and turned to face the butler with a confused frown. "Sorry?"

"His Lordship shall explain. I believe he and Her Majesty are awaiting your arrival in the parlor, along with Healer O'Flynn. If you please, Father, just let yourself in while I finish gathering Her Majesty's belongings. Mr. Carlisle is bringing the other car around. "

"All right." With a final puzzled look over his shoulder at Lord Arilan's retreating butler, the priest did as instructed. Following the sound of voices emanating from the parlor, he entered the room to discover James sitting in his favorite chair, flanked by two women Devlin could not remember meeting before. One, an exotic brunette who appeared to have come from Nur Hallaj or some similar clime, appeared to be making a serious study of James's upturned features, while nearby an angelic-looking young woman with an unruly mop of blonde ringlets giggled as she watched them. Something about the feminine laughter sounded oddly familiar. Father Devlin took a tentative step into the room, looking around for Her Majesty and the Healer.

The blonde noticed his entrance and turned sparkling blue eyes and a bright smile in his direction. "Oh, good! Father Devlin is here."

Devlin paused once more, casting about frantically for some glimmer of memory to surface. Granted, since Suzanne's death he had hardly been in the habit of seeking out the company of beautiful women, yet he was fairly sure if he'd ever met this particular one before, he would have remembered. He'd been grieving, yes, but not entirely comatose. Then again, James had always had a short attention span where women were concerned, and if she'd been introduced as one of his endless string of girlfriends, Devlin might not have concerned himself with paying more than a polite amount of attention at the time. Still, if the lady who'd greeted him was one of James's transient love interests, then she still appeared to be on amazingly good terms with him, which seemed remarkable considering that the lord of the manor currently had his entire attention focused on the other strikingly attractive female in the room. Dev really wasn't sure what to make of the scene before him.

A split second later, the mystery was solved. The exotic brunette's features blossomed into a mischievous grin as she traced a circle in the air above James' upturned face, accompanying the gesture with a quietly spoken spell. Their host's features shifted, his tanned olive complexion turning paler and liberally freckled. Slightly protuberant green eyes widened above a hint of an overbite, giving James a boyishly earnest expression quite at odds with his customary suave sophistication. As he turned to meet Father Devlin's gaze, Dev could see that the illusory face staring back at him had ears that stuck out under his shock of straw-colored hair. The priest's lips twitched as he struggled not to laugh. He glanced over at the brunette, who was presumably Healer O'Flynn. O'Flynn looked all innocence, while the blonde - could that really be The Queen? - looked away quickly, biting her lip and apparently sharing Devlin's losing battle to maintain a decorous composure.

"You are _very_ talented," said Her Majesty to Healer O'Flynn once she was able to speak with a normal voice again.

"So what do I look like?" James asked, glancing around in hopes of catching sight of himself in a reflective surface.

"Hang on," O'Flynn said, catching hold of his chin and turning him up to face her again. "Let me tweak you just a bit more." She whistled a cheery tune while adding a bit more of an upward tilt to James's nose. Glancing up at Devlin again, she added, "I think the new look suits Lord Arilan, don't you?"

"Absolutely," said Devlin. "Quite wholesome."

"And what exactly does 'wholesome' me look like?" James repeated, perhaps sensing from his friend's reaction that something was up, for a glimmer of suspicion had entered his eyes.

Dev smiled at the two lovely ladies before turning his attention back to James. "Like the luckiest man in all Gwynedd, apparently. So, what's the occasion?"

"We're heading up to Eirian House tonight, Father," Sophia informed him. "In your car, if that's all right. And incognito, which means that you're next." She smiled sweetly and gestured to an empty chair.

It was now Father Devlin's turn to feel a qualm of trepidation as, across from him, Lord Arilan favored him with a knowing smirk.

* * *

 _Late afternoon  
Peter Astari's personal penthouse suite  
Royal Astari Hotel  
City of Rhemuth  
December 18, 2021_

Maureen took a sip of her smoked darja tea as she finished filling Peter in on what she'd learned earlier that morning. "So my best guess is that the O'Malley boy - _if_ the lad I've been dreaming about is the O'Malley boy - is somewhere in Iomaire."

"Interesting." Peter took a sip of his stout. "So now it's off to Iomaire to follow the trail?"

"Well, that might be a little more difficult. I don't know anyone in Iomaire or the surrounding area. Alicia's got her property up in Marbury, of course, but she's in Rhemuth more often than not now that Karim has sweet-talked her into moving in with him during her work week. And the only Public Portal for miles in that area is the one the Saint Camber's Tour pilgrims use, so between the pilgrims and the other tourists, I imagine it's difficult to find a car for hire in the area. I suppose I'll just have to trust the professionals to find him; either that or take a train to Marbury and hire a car once I'm there."

"Or you could simply take advantage of the fact that I own a hotel in Marbury and a ski lodge on the Eastmarch side of the Rheljan range, and I'm pretty sure I can spare you a car from my personal fleet. You only need to ask."

"Well . . . that's awfully generous of you, but . . . ."

"Oh, spare me the blushes, sweet; I'm hardly going to take advantage of your concern for a missing child in order to have my wicked way with you. I swear, for a woman who was married for over two decades, you're astonishingly innocent." He grinned. "The ski lodge is closer to Iomaire, but of course Marbury's PD is the one handling the case at the moment, at least unless they've turned up some actual physical evidence that the boy's in Iomaire. So shall we spend the weekend in Marbury, then? In separate beds, if I need to spell it out before you explode from embarrassed speculation?"

Maureen gave a mortified laugh. "You must think I'm hopelessly old-fashioned."

He smiled, standing to take her empty cup and saucer. Bending to kiss her brow, he said, "A bit, yes. But also hopelessly charming. And believe me, if I must choose between extremes, I'd rather have you old-fashioned than profligate in your favors like my former wife. Which, as you might expect, is _why_ Vanessa is no longer my wife."

She watched him carry the dishes to the hotel dumbwaiter, wondering how her previously quite comfortable friendship with Peter had managed to evolve into this somewhat awkward yet also - if she dare be fully honest with herself - rather exciting new stage of . . . what could she call it, actually? They weren't exactly dating, not formally, although there was no doubt of Peter's interest in a romantic relationship, and lately she'd been surprised and a bit dismayed to find herself reacting like some giddy young school girl in the throes of her first crush whenever he was around. She hoped she shielded it well, but at times like this, she wasn't entirely sure. Was 'courtship' too old-fashioned a word to use for this tentative dance they seemed to be engaged in these days?

"Peter . . . ?"

He returned to the seating area, this time sitting next to her rather than in his usual chair. "Yes?"

"Do you know how to dowse? For a person, I mean?"

Whatever he'd expected her to say, clearly that must not have been it. He stared at her for a moment, amusement creasing the corners of his eyes, before he laughed. "No, my one-track-minded darling, I do not, although I know the theory behind it. We can try our hand at it when we get to Iomaire, or perhaps if we can't figure out how to get accurate results, we can check in with someone there who can. When do you want to go up? I expect you'll want a chance to pack a bag first; we may need to be gone for several days."

"I wouldn't be pulling you away from important business here, would I? If I would be, you could just get me to that end of the Kingdom and I'll be fine from there."

Peter's expression sobered. "No, there's really nothing I need do from here that I couldn't handle from any of my other bases of operation. With the Castle district closed off completely and only emergency traffic and local residents allowed to enter the City at the moment, while some displaced locals have no outside friends or relatives to go to, this hotel has become less of a business and more of an emergency shelter at present. We'll consider this week of lost holiday season revenue my year's worth of charitable giving, shall we? I was thinking of getting away for the weekend anyway, more for a sanity break than anything else." He smiled. "Of course, if I could get away with my favorite lady, that would make my short holiday all the more enjoyable."

"Even if it's spent being dragged all over the plains country looking for a needle in a haystack? That's surely not the relaxing weekend you had envisioned!"

"Maybe not, but at least with you there, it's certain not to be a boring one."

* * *

 _Early evening  
En route to Eirian House  
December 18, 2021_

Father Devlin couldn't help but smile at the almost giddy excitement radiating from the young Queen seated beside him as he navigated the country lanes between Tre-Arilan and Eirian House, the Haldane summer house several miles north of the City of Rhemuth. After several minutes of consultation with Her Majesty's junior armsman, Michael Prior, as well as Lord Arilan's almost frighteningly competent majordomo Carbury, the men had worked out what looked to be the safest route to take between those two points, skirting just beyond the outlying edges of the City proper. Although their route, and indeed even their destination, did not take them very far afield from the Castle where the Queen had spent most of her life, one might have almost thought she was encountering an entirely new continent.

She turned towards him as they crested a small hill, pushing an errant curl away from her face as she smiled. (Seeing a diminutive curly-haired blonde seated where his mind argued that a raven-haired Haldane Queen ought to be was still a shock to his system!) "What village is that in the distance?" Her Majesty asked him, pointing downhill about a mile ahead.

"That's Downton, I believe, Ma'am." He glanced up at the rearview mirror to catch a glimpse of the back seat passengers engaged in a quiet conversation behind them. "James?"

"Hm?" Appearing to replay the half-heard exchange in the front seat in his mind, he belatedly replied, "Ah, yes, that's Downton, Ma'am."

Father Devlin reduced speed as he approached the edge of the village, checking his mirror and noting that Michael, following a discreet distance behind them, was doing the same. Healer O'Flynn, checking her new appearance out in the same mirror, grinned at him. He was amused to see she had changed her eye color for the third time since they'd left Tre-Arilan. "You know, someday you're going to cast that spell all wrong and you'll end up stuck with whatever you get, right?" he joked.

Heather laughed. "Not a chance! Besides, I'd forgotten how fun this is. When I was back in high school, I used to change my hair and eye color just about weekly."

James shook his head. "That wasn't against school policy?"

"No, at least as long as I didn't turn up with non-natural hair colors, so I had to save the wilder shades for summer hols." She favored her seatmate with a mischievous smile. "Although the time when I showed up for class completely shape-shifted, _that_ was! Or at least it was once they got done writing up a policy for it by the next day. Looking back, I can see why - too much chance of using that trick to pass oneself off as someone else and get up to no good. At the time I thought it was just a lot of fuss over nothing."

"You know, that pretty much makes you the ideal woman, doesn't it? Just think, I could have a different beauty in my arms every night and never feel a moment's guilt because you'd all be the same wom - Ow!" James leaned away from Heather's playful punch, rubbing his arm. "Whatever happened to 'First, do no harm'?"

"Shall I just leave the cad in Downton and pick him back up on the return trip, Heather?" Devlin asked, shooting James a reproving look in the mirror.

"You could, but that would be less fun for me," Heather said. "I'm rather enjoying getting to smack a lord around."

"It sounds like a useful trick to know," Sophia said, sounding a tad wistful before her mind caught up with the conversation and she hastily clarified, "Shape-shifting and appearance altering, I meant, not smacking lords around, though at times that's rather tempting too!" She giggled. "There are certainly times I've wished I could pass myself off as someone else. Is that the sort of thing I might be able to learn someday, or is it the kind of magic only full Deryni can manage?"

"You could probably learn it," James assured her. "In fact, it may eventually come to you even more quickly and naturally than it would to a full Deryni. That's one of the more unusual advantages to the Haldane gift; you needn't go through the years of training that most of us have had to undergo in order to access your talents properly."

Sophia shook her head, looking thoughtful. "It seems so odd to me that Mother never chose to do much at all with her Haldane potential, given the clear benefits I'd have thought she'd have seen in doing so. In her meetings with you, Lord Arilan, did she ever happen to indicate why?"

"No, Ma'am, I haven't a clue. I've wondered about that myself, frankly. The late King your grandfather didn't show that same reticence, from what I can remember of him, although of course I wasn't in government service yet when he died."

"I should hope not. You'd have been, what, ten at the time?" Heather asked. "You're not _that_ much of a prodigy, I trust."

"Not quite that much," James assured her.

They had reached the edge of the village. Devlin slowed the car to an even more sedate pace as they passed the small assortment of shops and pubs lining the main road through the tiny town. Although they were far enough outside of Rhemuth for this small community to have retained more of a traditional character, here and there a fast food restaurant sign showed evidence of the encroachment of modern life.

Sophia leaned forward in her seat, pointing to one such sign. "Father Devlin, is that a Gold Lion?"

Devlin glanced at the iconic sign up ahead. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Oh, could we stop! I've not had a Lion Burger in ages!" She grinned, looking like a small child on Christmas morning. "And you know, Father, it's _my_ Gold Lion they've named it for, isn't it? So we really ought to stop in so I can show my appreciation."

He laughed. "Can't really argue with that logic, I suppose." The backwards glance in the mirror again. "James?"

Arilan shrugged. "I'd rather not stop and go inside, but I suppose we could use the drive-through."

"Oh yes!" If anything, Sophia looked even more enthused about that idea.

Suppressing a chuckle, Devlin turned off the main road and into the restaurant's driveway.

* * *

 _Early evening  
The Adams' flat  
City of Rhemuth  
December 18, 2021_

Jen looked out the window at the distant crowd of people gathered around the Cathedral. "The crowd has thinned a bit out there, but it's still a zoo." Turning back towards Eilonwy, she added, "Have you heard the Archbishop has set a date for the memorial service?"

"Yes," Eilonwy murmured absently as she scrolled down a webpage. "Just before New Year, isn't it? December 31st?" She looked up. "Now let's just hope Sophia will be allowed to attend."

"Why wouldn't she be?" Jen asked, surprised by the notion of Sophia being barred from her own family's memorial service.

"Well, consider for a moment that you're one of her armsmen, or whoever is safeguarding her at the moment. She told Mum that she hasn't been Empowered yet, and that she doesn't even know where the royal regalia _are,_ much less if the items are still intact. Would you let her go into the Cathedral amongst all those gathered mourners, not knowing if one of them might secretly be an assassin out to finish the job instead?" Eilonwy pushed a lock of hair back as she considered the security nightmare. "Yes, I know the Cathedral would get a thorough check before then, and I know they wouldn't let just anyone in on the actual day, and certainly not without a careful search. But what if someone who passes a weapons search decides to challenge her to a Duel Arcane once she's there and vulnerable?" She shook her head. "No, she's got to be Empowered, and soon. So we need to find that regalia, if it's there to be found at all, and we need to do it before the Royal Family's funeral service."

"All right." Jen joined her friend on the bed to peer over her shoulder at the laptop screen. "You know, even if we can't find the original regalia, that's not an insurmountable obstacle. Haldanes have been Empowered before even without the three traditional insignia being on hand. For instance, when Kelson the Great was missing and presumed dead, he was wearing the Eye of Rom at the time, so Prince Conall was given a substitute earring instead. Granted, it would be a good thing if we could find the traditional insignia, given their historical significance if nothing else."

"Yes." Eilonwy pointed out several photos of the late Queen she had pulled up in an image search. "Well, one thing gives me hope that perhaps at least one of the three elements isn't irretrievably lost. Do you see the Eye of Rom in any of these close-ups?"

"Hm. No, now that you mention it, Her late Majesty didn't seem given to wearing earrings at all, other than the pearls in these three photos where she's dressed in formal wear." Jen pointed out the pictures in question.

"So it's not likely she was wearing it at the time of the bombing. But what does the Eye of Rom even look like?" Eilonwy asked. "I know it's an earring, of course, but I'm not sure I've ever actually seen the thing except in history book illustrations or as a sketch in one of Da's history notebooks. Certainly our late Queen wasn't in the habit of wearing it daily like her medieval forebears did, or even some more recent ones." She did another web search, this time turning up several images of the historical artifact.

Several were artistic representations or old black and white photographs, and neither woman turned more than a cursory glance towards those. A few showed the regalia worn by the late Queen's father, Nigel III. The colors in these older photos were sometimes faded with age, but both women studied the images closely nonetheless. "He was rather dashing, wasn't he?" Jen remarked. "Even in his later years, he was very handsome."

"Yes, though apparently half the ladies of the Court thought so as well, to his Queen's dismay," Eilonwy said. "Sophia said he was a doting grandfather, but as a husband he left rather a lot to be desired, as she discovered later in life when she got old enough to understand Court gossip."

"Oh dear, not good." She clicked on the next thumbnail image, which opened a larger version showing the Eye of Rom in a display case. "Now this is promising. I wonder where this was taken - Rhemuth Castle's Keep, perhaps, or do you suppose maybe Valoret? If it's in Valoret, that would mean it's in safe hands. I'm sure Sophia would have no trouble getting it back for a weekend."

Eilonwy frowned as she tried to zoom in on the small sign affixed to the case. "I don't think so. I've been to both places dozens of times and don't recall ever seeing that display." The engraving on the enlarged sign was blurry but somewhat legible. "No, I think they must have been sent off for repairs.. See at the bottom? It looks like it says the original regalia were sent off to Valoret for restoration, which means this display must have been in the Rhemuth Keep at one time, even though I'm quite certain it's not been there any of the times when I've visited. I wonder if the items ever got sent back there or if they're still somewhere in Valoret? Or would they have been stored away some other place for safekeeping?"

"Someplace safer than the Royal Palaces? Where might that be?" Jen asked.

"Well, until a few days ago, I'd have said no place could be more secure than Rhemuth Keep." Eilonwy clicked back to the original page of image search results, then zoomed in on one of Queen Araxelle's Coronation pictures. "All right, now here's Her late Majesty wearing her full kit! Let's have a look, shall we?"

They both bent over the laptop screen for a closer view. "Why yes, I do believe it's all there! The Crimson Lion - that's the brooch, isn't it? - The Eye of Rom, and there's a side view of the Ring of Fire at least."

Jen didn't react, just stared quizzically at the photo for a moment. Eilonwy turned to her. "What is it?"

"Could you zoom in a bit?"

Eilonwy complied. "Why, what are you looking at?"

Jen looked decidedly worried. "I'm not sure yet. Could you go back to those photos of King Nigel one more time?"

"Sure . . . ." Eilonwy opened another window, then copied and pasted the URL of Araxelle's photograph into the address field, arranging the two windows so that the images of the late King and his daughter could be viewed side by side. "What are you seeing, Jen? Use your words."

Jen bit her lip, pointing out the earring in the largest of the late King's photos first. "It may just be a trick of the light, or a camera flash, but see how the Eye of Rom almost seems to glow from within in this photograph? And in his other photos as well, although the effect is clearest in this one."

"Yes." Eilonwy took a closer look at Araxelle's photo, comparing the two. "Hm. It doesn't seem to be glowing in this one, though you're right, maybe that's just due to the lighting conditions." At Jen's continued look of disquiet, she added, "Why, is that significant?"

"I . . . don't know. I really wish Sir Will were still here." Jen touched her fingertips to her lips, her thoughts whirling furiously. "Eilonwy, Queen Araxelle would have been Empowered _before_ her Coronation, would she not?"

"Oh, almost certainly! She would have had over a year to prepare, after all, especially since Nigel's death wasn't unexpected. They don't throw together Coronations in mere days after the previous sovereign's death anymore like they did back in the Middle Ages. Pomp and ceremony has been lifted to a fine art in modern Gwynedd. There's an immense amount of planning that goes behind that sort of thing now."

"Yes, that's what I thought." Jen forced her gaze away from Araxelle's Coronation portrait, turning to look directly at Eilonwy. "Loni, you might think I've gone utterly mad, but I'm not sure your late Queen ever actually _was_ Empowered. Not properly, at least."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

 _Early evening  
En route to Eirian House  
December 18, 2021_

James Arilan grinned as a gleefully shrieking Heather O'Flynn catapulted herself towards him. In the front seat of Devlin's car, Her Majesty burst into peals of laughter. He glanced up at the rearview mirror to see Devlin's reaction to the hubbub and spied a mild wince on the priest's illusory features. James wasn't sure if Dev was reacting to the loud noise or to the rivulets of water trickling into his car.

"Oh dear! I'm so sorry, Father; we've not ruined your car, have we?" Sophia tilted her head towards their driver, looking concerned.

Dev gave her a reassuring smile as the cascade of water from the car wash finally stopped and hot air began to blow over the vehicle instead. "No harm done, Ma'am. It's my fault; I've not taken this bucket of bolts through a drive-through car wash in so long, I didn't realize it had got that leaky. I usually just get a light trickle now and again during a heavy rain." Looking back over his shoulder at Heather, he grinned. "Are you all right? You could just roll down that window now if you need drying off."

She stuck out her tongue at him. " _You're_ supposed to be the nice one!"

"Hey, _I'm_ nice!" James protested.

"No, you're not," Heather teased him. "You're a cad; we've already established this." Despite her pronouncement, he noticed the Healer seemed to be in little hurry to move back to her own side of the vehicle. Then again, perhaps he shouldn't read too much into that, it _was_ wet, after all.

"I think there may be a box of tissues under Her Majesty's seat," Devlin told Heather, "if you want to mop up the worst of the mess."

"Or you could just move completely onto my lap if you'd prefer," James assured her. "I wouldn't mind."

"Thank you for offering. Such a gentleman you are," Heather said in mock-solemnity as she reached for the box, straightening to dab at the droplets beside her with a couple of tissues before attempting to stuff the moist wad down James' shirt. He laughed, easily fending off her attack.

"Hellion!"

"Cad!"

Sophia attempted a stern look at them but failed dismally. Glancing at Devlin, she joked, "Father, your children are misbehaving again."

He smiled, shaking his head. "Not my circus, not my monkeys." The hot air ceased blowing, and the green light came on, signaling that the car wash cycles were complete. Devlin put the car in gear and inched forward.

"How in the world did a cad like you end up such good friends with an upstanding soul like Father Devlin?" Heather asked, half in jest but genuinely curious about their friendship as well.

James put a hand to his chest, feigning injury. " _I'm_ upstanding! Sometimes, anyway . . . ."

"I'm sure it happens sometimes, but I actually wasn't referring to your genitalia."

 _"_ _Heather!"_ Sophia stared wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the Healer over her shoulder before collapsing against the seat in tears of mirth at the gobsmacked expression on James's face. Heather, suddenly remembering herself, not to mention the company she was in, looked mortified, clapping a hand belatedly over her mouth.

Devlin met her embarrassed gaze in the mirror and chuckled. "Left that filter at home this morning, did you?" Diverting the conversation back to her earlier question, he told her, "We met at boarding school. Saint Jorian's Academy. We were both eight, I think. James was halfway up an apple tree, intending to steal some fruit."

"And you talked him back down?" she asked, grateful to him for bringing the conversation back on track.

James began to laugh. Devlin caught his eye with a wry smile. "That's probably what I _should_ have done, but no. To be honest, I handed him my shirt so he could fill it up with enough for both of us. But the headmaster caught us at it, and our short lives quite nearly ended before the friendship could even begin." He cast a sidelong look at the amused young Queen beside him. "And James has been dragging me into impossible situations ever since."

* * *

 _Early evening  
Patrick and Eilonwy Adams' flat  
December 18, 2021_

Patrick frowned over the genetic data he was analyzing. What he thought he was seeing was impossible, or at least he could think of no logical explanation for it. Perhaps he was reading Alicia's data incorrectly. Certainly he was no geneticist, but he had a somewhat greater understanding of her simplified transcription of the specific relevant traits of DNA coding and what it all meant than the average layman reading her report would have gleaned from it, having worked on analyzing these sorts of reports from her before. But either he had misinterpreted something, or else there was another mystery to work through quite aside from the question of which individual had been responsible for the Rhemuth Castle bombing. That question, he felt fairly certain, had been answered the moment he found Lloyd O'Malley's name and genetic markers in the search results, at least if Maureen's theory about the missing boy possibly being used as an inducement to force O'Malley into being an accomplice to mass murder had been correct. And even if it wasn't, certainly Patrick could think of no other reason why a man who had been banned from the Royal Presence two years earlier had coincidentally happened to turn up at the Castle again at just the right time and day to end up dead.

That discovery should have left matters sorted nicely, but then Patrick had noticed one anomaly, and then another. Reeling from the implications of what he'd found, he picked up his phone, pulling up a number. The call rolled over to voicemail.

"Alicia, it's Patrick. If you're still in Rhemuth, can you pop by my flat for a bit? I don't think I should explain over the phone, but I'm afraid it's rather urgent."

Returning to the spreadsheet once more, he sorted out the name and code string pairs that contained the Haldane genetic markers. There were a fair few on the list, given how many families had intermarried with the Gwyneddan Royal Family over the centuries, although how much or how little of that shared coding had been passed on to each successive generation tended to indicate if the Haldane heritage was current or at least of quite recent introduction or if it was more distant in degree. So the surprise was not that there were a fairly high number of Haldane trait carriers on Alicia's list.

No, what Patrick found truly unsettling was that _none_ of these Haldane descendants appeared to have been of quite recent enough descent to have been part of the current generation's Royal House of Haldane, at least not when their identifying markers were compared to the markers filed in the Official Registry by their next most recent progenitor, Nigel III. And that finding included, oddly enough, Her late Majesty Araxelle and the children and grandchildren who had died with her.

* * *

 _Early Evening  
A flat near the Royal Hospital Rhemuth complex  
December 18, 2021_

"Oh, damn. I probably should return this call." Alicia extricated herself from Karim's arms as she picked up her phone from the nightstand.

"Nooo!" Karim rolled onto his back, although not entirely over to his side of the bed, she noticed. "Sweetheart, it's the weekend, and for once we both have the same days off. Can't we just enjoy some time together without work getting in the way?" He sat up slightly. "I assume it's work?"

"Not exactly. Well, I suppose it is, after a fashion; it's Patrick Adams who's called, and if he's calling me after work hours after poring over the data I sent over to him, chances are he's just stumbled upon Naughty Nigel's little secret. No, that's wrong - in this case it wouldn't actually be Naughty Nigel's after all, for once. Not completely, at any rate." She gave Karim a consoling kiss. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Alicia!" Karim sat up fully as Alicia slid out of bed, gathering her clothing. "What are you on about?"

"A potentially muddled succession. I'll tell you as soon as we know more, and assuming I'm allowed to. Right now I need to work out with Patrick how to do damage control if anyone else happens to notice the puzzle pieces have come up all wrong, at least until Her Majesty has a chance to weigh in on how she wants this sensitive information handled. She probably hasn't a clue about the family secret, poor dear. The next Council meeting ought to prove quite interesting."

"Your _last_ Council meeting was 'quite interesting' as well. Please tell me you aren't planning on meeting in the same location until your security has been upgraded." Karim stood, looking worried as he gathered Alicia in a loving embrace.

She leaned against him briefly before pulling away. "We won't meet there again until that's been fixed, I promise."

* * *

 _Late evening  
Patrick and Eilonwy Adams' flat  
Rhemuth  
December 18, 2021_

"So it's true, then? Queen Araxelle wasn't a true Haldane?" Patrick Adams stared at his visitor in shock. He had hoped against all hope that he'd been wrong, that somehow he'd been misreading Alicia's data all along.

"She was not." Glancing at Eilonwy and Jen, who had been invited to join them in the discussion after they'd revealed their discovery to Patrick about the late Queen's apparent lack of Haldane Empowerment, Alicia added, "And that is why the power assumption ritual failed to work in her case. She did have a bit of Deryni talent of her own, and there were a few Haldanes in her family tree, on both the maternal and paternal sides, but nothing more recent than at least the best part of a century back, and not through the unbroken male line. She was definitely not Nigel III's biological daughter."

"Nigel was known to be a philanderer, but I'd never have guessed about Sybilla having had an affair, much less having a child from one," Patrick said. "I wonder if Nigel ever knew Araxelle wasn't his?"

Alicia shrugged. "He may not have known - my guess is that he probably didn't, unless he happened to double-check his daughter's Registry data, and even then he probably wouldn't have had a clue what he was looking at. Most people wouldn't, and the technology was still in its infancy when Araxelle was originally Registered. In any case, Prince Dolan was their heir and fully expected to become the next King, so it might have seemed more of a moot point at the time."

Eilonwy glanced at Jen, then back at Alicia. "But that means if Her late Majesty wasn't a Haldane, then none of her children were either. And that means . . . ." Her eyes shimmered with tears. "Does Sophia know?"

Alicia leaned back in her chair. "Ah, now that's the _really_ interesting bit! After I ran that report and noticed the . . . shall we call them anomalies? . . . I went ahead and pulled up Her Majesty's Registry info to compare with the other results. And unlikely as it might seem, Sophia actually _is_ a Haldane. She's just not Nigel's granddaughter."

Patrick looked baffled. "So Araxelle had an affair with another Haldane? I suppose you must mean the late Duke of Corwyn, but I didn't think -"

"Oh, no, wrong line of descent! She's of Nigel's line, definitely, she's just not his granddaughter. She's his daughter."

Eilonwy looked decidedly ill. "Oh, dear God!"

"And not by Araxelle, so not quite as bad as your mind has evidently leapt to - I know _mine_ went there until I examined Her Majesty's full genome more closely! Whatever flaws Nigel had, at least he wasn't _that_ depraved, especially if he truly did believe that Araxelle was his own daughter. No, Sophia is a Haldane through Nigel, but not through Araxelle. Which means that Araxelle was definitely in on the family secret, since she consented to pass Sophia off as her own child. Which also means that if Her Majesty is _not_ already aware of any of this, she should definitely be told, and as soon as possible. I wouldn't want to be in her shoes if somehow the Royal Family Secret gets out and she's had absolutely no warning. Patrick, I trust you won't be sharing any of this with the Chief aside from giving him the primary suspect that he's looking for?"

"No worries there! I don't feel a pressing need to give him any genuine fodder for his Deryni conspiracy theories. Handing over O'Malley's name ought to be enough. And I don't think you need worry about him stumbling onto the royal secret on his own; the man couldn't find his own backside in the dark. How he ended up as Chief of A-T, I have no clue."

"Nepotism." Alicia gave a disgusted snort. "That and I'm told he made a competent enough DI at one time, before his wife left him for a Deryni and he went completely off the deep end. Though _I've_ yet to be fully convinced he was ever all that competent to start off with." Looking at Eilonwy and Jen, she added, "I know it's a lot to absorb, and it won't be an easy thing to be the bearer of bad tidings, but Lady Maureen has mentioned to me that the two of you used to be quite close to the Queen when you were all at university. Do you think, once you've been granted an audience with her, that you could find a way to break the news gently? Maureen told me you're likely to be contacted once she's safely installed at Eirian House, and I think this is the sort of thing that would be best to hear from a friend rather than a near stranger. It's absolutely vital that she know as soon as possible, and preferably before she's Empowered. The truth of her parentage would affect the royal succession, you see; as things stand presently, as the nearest legitimate heir to the House of Haldane through a male line, Morgan Haldane is now the rightful King of Gwynedd."

* * *

 _Morning, Camberian Time  
(Late Evening, RST)  
Atherton Palace  
St. Michael's Province, Camberia  
December 19, 2021 (Dec. 18 in Gwynedd)_

"What do you think you are playing at now, Malcolm?" Aubrey Ivan Reginald Atherton-Haldane, King of Camberia, asked his younger brother. Not that Malcolm was all that much younger - about twenty minutes younger or thereabouts.

"Why, what I've _always_ done, my prince - looking out for our best interests. Surely you cannot be objecting to broadening our power base? Expanding our influence?" Mal flashed a charming grin. "Perhaps even conquering new territory . . . or perhaps I ought to say reclaiming lost ones?"

"Without consulting me first?" Aubrey's glare was filled with ominous warning, but Malcolm wasn't too concerned. He'd taken his brother's measure long before. Aubrey might be angry with him at the moment, but he was far too weak and sentimental to do away with his twin brother even for so grave an oversight. It was a weakness inherited from their forebear King Reginald Haldane, he supposed. Old Reggie had disowned and exiled his own dearly beloved firstborn son and that heir's followers here to this god-forsaken continent halfway around the world after Prince Halbert had grown tired of waiting for his rightful due and had tried to depose the old King in a palace coup. Who'd have guessed that a ruler with one foot in the grave could have won the day against Halbert and his supporters, yet somehow he had - partly with the help of some busybodies styling themselves the Camberian Council, it had turned out, and partly through sheer dumb luck. But Reggie, like his latter-day descendant Aubrey, had been a sentimental old fool. He had commuted Halbert's and his followers' death sentence for high treason, exiling them instead to the newly-discovered land those dispossessed lords and their ladies later named Camberia, because he couldn't bear to put his own flesh and blood to the sword nor leave Halbert stranded on some distant shore to fend for himself without allies. So he'd given Halbert what that prince had wished for-a kingdom of his own, albeit not the one he had hoped to rule. That had been bloody stupid of him, not that Malcolm was exactly complaining, given that he owed his very existence to Reginald's soft heart and softer head. Had he been Old King Reginald, though, he'd have lopped off Halbert's head without a second thought.

Malcolm shrugged. "I thought you'd be pleased, brother. If this works out, Gwynedd will be yours for the taking, and if it doesn't, then at least we'll have left that Kingdom weakened and destabilized, ripe for plucking at some later date."

Aubrey seemed less than convinced. "And if it doesn't, if the surviving Haldanes and their government manage to track your activities back to you and come to believe that you are acting on my command, you will have embroiled us in a war with Gwynedd, and just when I was on the verge of brokering a treaty with our natty little cousins. Have you thought about that?"

Malcolm picked up his mug of kofi, using his Deryni senses to cautiously probe it for any traces of poison before taking a sip. While he was certain Aubrey would not poison him, he couldn't say the same of others at the Royal Court. "Thought about it? Certainly. But when have we not been at war against Gwynedd? The only difference is that for once it would actually be declared." Personally, he'd nearly forgotten about the late Prince of Meara's planned Christmas visit to Camberia and the new era of accord between the Haldane Kingdoms that summit had been meant to usher in. Not that any such accord would have lasted, at any rate. It didn't fit in with Malcolm's own plans, which had been decades in the making.

"The other difference, you dolt, is that they might decide to lob a few warheads in our general direction and finish off what King Reginald left undone!"

"Well, that would be why I've destabilized their Kingdom for you in preparation for administering the _coup de grace_ \- which is in the works, by the way. I doubt they'll be able to declare war until they get a new government sorted, which is apt to take a little time . . . time that they don't have."

"Time that they don't have, _why?"_

Malcolm smiled. "Come, brother, the more you can plausibly deny, the better off you are, eh?"

Aubrey studied him for a long moment. "And what do you want from this? As much as I would love to think you are simply looking out for my best interests out of fraternal loyalty, I know you far too well."

Malcolm laughed. "Well, really, isn't it obvious? You'll be King over two kingdoms soon. You wouldn't want to be too overextended, so you'll need a viceroy for one, I'm sure."

"And you'll gladly move to Gwynedd, is that what you're saying?"

"You'd have me out of your hair."

"Hm. Well, there is that." Aubrey considered the matter. "You know, if you get caught at your little game, I shall have to publicly denounce you. You would end up disinherited, should that happen, so fair warning."

"I won't get caught. I've set up a human supremacist group to take the fall. Poor Araxelle and her brood got taken out by anti-Deryni terrorists; it's in all the papers. You should read all the speculation in the news reports and hear the rumors gone rampant on the airwaves. Such a delightful spectacle. I'm half inclined to believe it all myself."

Aubrey steepled his fingers, tapping them against his chin as he contemplated his brother's unseemly glee. "Really, Mal, hasn't your little vendetta against Cousin Nigel gone on long enough? The man's been dead for two decades now, you must realize. Don't you think blowing up all the little Haldanes was a bit harsh? And Araxelle _was_ your darling Sybilla's child, after all, or had you forgotten?"

"I hadn't forgotten." Malcolm's voice went harsh. "Sybilla's long dead; what's done can't harm her now. And as for Araxelle, she was Nigel's spawn."

"Are you absolutely sure? Think of the timing, dear brother." Aubrey gave his younger twin a glacial smile. "Are you _quite_ certain Araxelle wasn't yours? Oh dear, I hope not! All my poor little grandnieces and grandnephews turned into pink mist and blown away . . . Poof!" He waved airily, amused by his own wit.

Malcolm felt a qualm of momentary doubt, swiftly quashed. He could not allow Aubrey to see even a fleeting moment of weakness. The King of Camberia might not be the more ruthless of the two brothers, but he could be predatory nonetheless.

* * *

 _Late night  
The O'Malley residence  
A suburb of Marbury  
December 18, 2021_

The Camberian agent scouted the grounds of the O'Malley family residence, looking for some item belonging to the young Deryni boy his master sought. Why it mattered whether a Gwyneddan boy lived or died, he had no idea, but knowing His Grace, it was likely he thought the little lad might turn out useful somehow. Certainly a mind so young could easily be shaped into a useful tool; perhaps his master was looking at the long-range possibilities. It was none of his business, at any rate. He just needed to keep his mind on the job at hand.

There were no toys left out of doors, no bicycle left to turn icy in the frigid weather. Damn Marley and its climate; he'd much rather have been sunning himself on a Camberian beach right this minute enjoying the midday heat than spend it poking about in the dark in godforsaken Northeastern Gwynedd with the winter wind howling around him!

Right, then. If there was nothing outside belonging to the child, he would need to get inside. Fortunately the home appeared to be empty. The boy's mother, it seemed, had a night job. He had discovered this the hard way, by loitering around the neighborhood all afternoon waiting for the bitch to leave. It had certainly taken her long enough - he'd begun to fear she'd had the entire day off - but she had finally left the premises just an hour earlier.

Once this job was over, he was going to find a nice toasty chalet, preferably one with a hot tub. Pulling his tool kit from his coat pocket, he worked his way to the rear garden and began to pick the back door lock.

* * *

 _Just after noon, Camberian Time (Just after midnight, RST)  
Malcolm's home in Jorian Heights  
St. Michael's Province, Camberia  
December 19, 2021_

Where is she? Alisandra should have reported in by now,

Malcolm Atherton-Haldane thought to himself as he paced the length of the warded balcony outside his windowed great hall. His phone vibrated in his back pocket and he yanked it out, hoping it was her check-in call, but it was just a task reminder he had set on his calendar.

Had it not been for the vast distances between Camberia and Gwynedd, he'd have been tempted to show up in Concaradine to check on her personally, but alas, Gwynedd was too far distance for even the greatest of Transfer Portal jumps to be made directly to even its closest border from his island kingdom. The energy cost would simply not be survivable, and even if he were to drain the energies of several others in the attempt, he would likely only end up eternally stranded in _t-_ space for his effort. Otherwise, of course, the first generation of Camberians would simply have popped right back home after their enforced exile. Halbert could have just waited until his father's household was asleep, re-entered Rhemuth through his home Portal, and killed them all in their beds. Wouldn't that have been amusing?

He took a deep breath, summoning up patience. Doubtless she was just trying to make her way back home as discreetly as possible, avoiding the Gwyneddan Public Portal network with its reliance on that hellspawned Registry the Gwyneddan government insisted on imposing on its subjects. When her Caroline Whitfield persona was dominant, she was able to access the public network, being a Registered and naturalized Gwyneddan subject, but the Alisandra persona could not. Fortunately, Alisandra knew the signatures of a surprising number of private Portals which had no such restrictions - Malcolm's shadow agents in Gwynedd had seen to that - but unlike those sleepers, she was far more valuable to him. He had invested a great deal of time and effort into her creation, and he wanted his asset back. He needed to know what was happening on the ground there. Too much was hanging in the balance.

Besides, he missed her. She was amusing in bed. And it had been far too long since he'd been able to call her away from Whitfield's side to return to Camberia on one of her "business trips."

He felt sure that her mission to eliminate the Camberian Council had almost certainly succeeded, but it was hardly the sort of thing that would turn up in the noonday news. Clandestine attacks on top-secret facilities hidden by protective wards from all the world so very rarely did. However, that business should have been sorted hours earlier.

He would wait one more hour. If she hadn't checked in by then, he would awaken another sleeper to make discreet inquiries.

* * *

 _Just before midnight, RST  
Eirian House  
Chaplain's suite  
December 18, 2021_

He didn't belong here, Father Devlin felt, looking around the tastefully luxurious furnishings of the small suite that had once been inhabited by his predecessor in the Haldane Court, at least during the warmer months when the Haldanes had traditionally left Rhemuth Castle for their summer house. _Predecessor_ seemed a particularly apt descriptor, unfortunately; Her late Majesty's Chaplain Royal had been among the fatalities in the Rhemuth Castle attack. Fortunately few if any of the late chaplain's personal belongings remained in these rooms, having been gathered and boxed to return to his grieving family prior to Devlin's arrival, but it felt awkward nonetheless to be assigned to rooms so recently belonging to the departed. The suite was located adjacent to the Royal Chapel, however, so he could understand why it had been designated for his use for the duration of his secondment.

Eirian House had a greatly reduced staff during the winter months, yet that staff had rallied valiantly in the past few days to convert the fortified summer palace into a makeshift fortress, if not in actual stonework, then in the impressive level of magical protections (both defensive and offensive) and vigilant, heavily armed guards quickly mustered to aid in the Queen's defense. Presiding over these efforts had been the Earl of Culdi, Her Majesty's Lord Chamberlain, nearing his retirement years now, yet seemingly indefatigable.

Her Majesty and the Lord Chamberlain might have thought it a small, makeshift household. Devlin felt like he'd managed to get caught up in some smaller nation's entire army! He had always thought Tre-Arilan quite grand, but he was convinced now that the whole of Tre-Arilan would fit quite comfortably within the wing of the summer palace that had been quickly made ready for the new arrivals. Fortunately, after the initial orientation, he had been left alone to settle in while HM was whisked off to give the changes in her home's defenses a closer inspection and Heather had disappeared with James to God alone knew where. 'Giving her the private tour,' James had informed him over one shoulder as they departed. Devlin certainly hoped that was the literal truth and not just his overly ardent friend's idea of a euphemism.

Devlin finished toweling his hair dry and replaced the towel on its heated rack. A robe lay neatly folded nearby. He shrugged into it before exiting the bathroom. During his shower, a valet had unpacked his small suitcase for him, leaving it next to a chest of drawers near the foot of his bed. Clean underwear and his favorite sleep pants were laid out atop the bedspread, the top edge of which was folded down to reveal crisp sheets embroidered with the Haldane heraldic badge. A lump under the blankets at the other end assured him that a hot water bottle was quite likely tucked underneath the covers to warm his feet.

Exchanging the robe for the other clothing, he padded barefoot across an Eastern-style carpet of hand-knotted silk over to the prie-dieu and knelt to pray.

* * *

 _Just after midnight, RST  
Eirian House  
Chaplain's suite  
December 19, 2021_

The pain was worst at night. During the day, there had been other things to keep Sophia's mind off her grief - the plans for her move to Eirian House, instructions given to her Lord Chamberlain for contacting key personnel for her first formal Privy Council meeting once she was securely established there, inspecting the new palace defenses, and other necessary tasks, all of which kept her thoughts fully occupied. And then there had been the drive from Tre-Arilan to Eirian House and the fun of traveling incognito. Just the thought of the lively banter between her fellow passengers briefly brought a smile back to her face. There was some healing effect to laughter, she was certain.

But at night, when all was quiet and she was alone and allowed to be herself again rather than The Queen, the pain of loss came flooding back.

She couldn't sleep. The very sight of her familiar suite had brought back a flood of memories. Hiding with Stefanie under the bed and stifling giggles as their nanny tried to find them. (Looking back, she imagined Nanny Bolton must not have been trying very hard, as she was certain she and Stef had been quite audible). Smuggling the dog in at night and trying to hide him from Mother. Then there was that time when Kelric had used his pocket knife to carve into an ancient wooden bench, "King Ifor's little royal bum sat here." Kelric's little royal bum had been quite sore once Father discovered this defacement of a priceless heirloom, and the bench soon acquired a set of comfortable seat cushions to conceal the damage.

So she had sought refuge elsewhere, her steps eventually taking her towards the Chapel Royal. It was silent, dark except for the Presence Lamp, and she entered to light a candle for her family and pray for a few minutes at the prie-dieu. She found some consolation in the act, though her spirit was still restless afterwards. She ought to head back to her room, she knew. The coming day would be a busy one as well; she ought to get her rest while she could. But knowing that didn't make actually doing so any easier.

As she entered the corridor, she saw there was a sliver of light underneath the chaplain's door. On a sudden impulse, she knocked. There was a faint sound from inside, and after a few moments the door opened and the priest within looked quizzically down at her. "Your Majesty! Is everything all right?"

 _No, everything was not all right,_ Sophia realized once her mind finally managed to form a rational thought. She chided herself for giving in to her momentary whim. She had turned up in hopes of seeking solace and some sort of answers from a clergyman, not from this robed, appealingly clean-smelling man with . . . with bare _skin_ where his shirt ought to be! She wasn't quite sure where it might be safe to look, so she kept her gaze glued fixedly at eye level, which left her staring at his Adam's apple.

"You're not wearing your collar!" she blurted. It had been the first response to pop into her head, though once the words were out she wished she could sink through the floor with embarrassment. Father Devlin looked surprised, his hand instinctively moving towards his bare throat, then as she dared to look upwards toward his face, he grinned. That grin did not help Sophia's equilibrium. Why couldn't Lord Arilan have found her an old or ugly priest?

"I don't usually wear it to bed, Ma'am," he replied. "But if you will give me half a minute, I'll go change."

 _No, no, don't bother, I was just leaving_ is what she meant to say, but somehow it came out as a squeaked "Usually?"

He gave her an uncertain look as she hoped to melt into the floor, the grin becoming an odd expression that she interpreted as the attempt to swallow down a laugh. "Well, there _have_ been times when I've fallen asleep over a book, but other than that, it's not my usual habit to wear my dog collar when I'm planning to sleep." He shook his head, his amusement reaching his eyes now. "Is there something that I can do for you, Ma'am?" he prompted gently.

 _Lord have mercy, yes!_ she thought even as she took an involuntary self-protective step back from the doorway. She did not need to be thinking _those_ types of thoughts about _this_ particular man! Sweet Saint Camber, where was her mind tonight? Was Lord Arilan's libido somehow catching? "I think . . . I'd better just go. It was nice to see you. Father." She took another step back, willing herself not to literally flee back down the hallway for fear he might think she'd gone utterly mental under the strain of the past few days.

She must have looked like a madwoman, for the grin faded into a look of concern. He glanced meaningfully towards the Chapel Royal, then back at her. "Give me two minutes," he said, stepping back into his room. The door closed softly between them. She retreated to the chapel, sinking onto the nearest pew before bursting into tears.

* * *

 _Just after midnight, RST  
Eirian House  
The Chapel Royal  
December 19, 2021_

If there had been a lecture during his seminary studies on how to deal with distraught queens while underdressed and barefoot, Devlin certainly couldn't remember it. He searched the room for the shirt he had worn earlier in the day, but it wasn't where he had left it; perhaps the overly zealous valet had taken it off to be laundered. A quick inspection of the armoire in the corner revealed a spare shirt and trousers. He dressed swiftly, grabbing his collar off the nightstand and affixing it in place before heading towards the door. Would he need his stole? The possibility stopped him in his tracks, and he turned to rummage through armoire and chest of drawers until he found the travel kit he normally kept in his car. Pocketing the small stole kept folded neatly within, he headed down the hall towards the chapel.

He entered it to find the Queen wiping away tears from her cheeks, attempting to gather her tattered composure. He gave her another moment before stepping forward. As his shadow fell across her, she looked up, moving over silently in the pew to make room for him. He sat.

They sat in silence for a long moment before he ventured, "Rough day?"

She gave a watery laugh. "Rough day, rough night. Oh God, I can't do this!"

He nodded, waiting for a moment for her to clarify, but she didn't. "What is it that you think you can't do?"

"I can't be . . . _her!"_

He pondered that statement. "You're worried that you won't be able to live up to your mother's legacy?" Privately he thought that wouldn't be so high of a goal - Nigel III, for all his glaring moral flaws, had been a more effective monarch - but that was hardly an opinion to share with a grieving daughter.

The young queen shook her head. "No, it's not that." She stared blankly towards the altar. "I don't think I can live up to what everyone is going to expect of me. I was never meant to be Queen." She traced the woodgrain of the pew back in front of them with a finger, keeping her thoughts to herself as he waited, although he could tell she was fairly bursting with them. At last she asked, "Have you ever had to do something that you felt sure was going to be impossible?"

It was his turn to sit in contemplative silence before answering. "Yes." The circumstances that had come to mind were deeply personal. He wondered if she meant to ask about them, and how much he would end up sharing with her if she did. He had come a long way in healing from his wife's death, but there were still some hurts he had never shared with another. _God, help me to know what she needs to hear._

"What was it, Father?"

He studied his clasped hands briefly before responding. "I lost my wife and unborn child several years back. For a while afterwards, I just felt like giving up on everything. The mission, my ministry . . . even my life at times. It all just seemed so hopeless during those first, darkest days." He thought about that time of intense grief before turning to her with a wry smile. "It was a very rough patch in my life, but not quite as impossible as it seemed at the time. The mission is thriving now, I'm still in ministry, and . . . well, _obviously_ I'm still here."

She laughed quietly. "I'm glad for that, especially the last part." Turning to look more directly at him, she asked, "How did you get through the roughest parts? Especially at night?"

He thought back. "Don't try to think too much about the long view, at least at first. Just take each day as it comes. Eventually you'll be able to think more about the future again, but sometimes even thinking beyond the moment can feel overwhelming at first, so just do the next right thing. Or if you're not sure what that is, at least do the next necessary thing. And pray, even if you don't feel like it." He considered that advice briefly, then chuckled as he added, "No, I probably ought to say pray _especially_ when you don't feel like it." He gave her a sympathetic smile. "You're having trouble sleeping again, I take it?"

She nodded. "My suite is so full of memories. I think maybe I should ask to be moved to different rooms, at least at present."

"That could definitely help. I have a two room flat back at the mission - three if you count the loo. My housekeeper arrived at work some mornings to find me sleeping downstairs in my office chair. At least here you have more comfortable options."

She smiled. "Let's hope!"

"Is Healer O'Flynn's room someplace close to yours?"

"I believe so, yes. Why?"

He laughed, looking around the Chapel Royal. "We Deryni know a spell that should help you fall asleep immediately, but it might be best if you get Heather to use it on you, unless you're really desperate to fall asleep on a hard wooden pew. I wouldn't recommend it, personally, having done that also."

* * *

 _Just after noon, Camberian Time (Just after midnight, RST)  
Malcolm's home in Jorian Heights  
St. Michael's Province, Camberia  
December 19, 2021 _

The phone rang. Malcolm snatched it up, stabbing at the Answer Call icon with his thumb. "Hello?"

The caller was not the person whose voice he had hoped to hear. "Your Grace, there has been a slight setback."

He did not need rapport or even the use of Deryni powers to sense the strain communicated across the phone line. "What sort of setback?" he asked, his voice grim. "Is the boy dead?"

"Ah . . . no, Your Grace. At least, I couldn't really say. I'm afraid I've not managed to find him yet." At the ominous silence that greeted this admission, the caller rapidly added, "But I _will!_ I just need a tiny bit of help with one small matter first, my lord."

A longer pause. Let the minion sweat a bit. Malcolm took a deep breath, then another, before replying. "What sort of small matter?"

"I . . . ah . . .seem to have a police officer on my trail. He caught sight of me as I was attempting to enter the O'Malley home, and now I'm afraid I'm having a spot of trouble shaking him loose." Malcolm heard what sounded like the sound of snapping twigs, followed by a dog barking loudly.

"Did you at least manage to get your hands on something belonging to the boy?" he asked.

"Not yet, Your Grace." The voice was a frantic whisper now. "I know you said I ought to keep a low profile whilst here in Gwynedd, but if I might use my powers just this once . . . ?"

 _Incompetent fool._ "I have a better idea. Do you see that bright blue icon at the upper right side of your phone screen? Press it." Malcolm closed his eyes, imagining the scene at the other end of the phone connection. The line went dead . . . .

* * *

 _Just after midnight, RST  
A few blocks south of the O'Malley residence  
A suburb of Marbury  
December 19, 2021_

The police officer held his flashlight in his left hand as he used that wrist to brace the pistol he held in his right. "Freeze!" he shouted. There was no answer, although he could see the man lying on the ground beneath a row of frost-covered shrubs. "Keep your hands where I can see them!" he demanded as he moved closer.

Drawing nearer to the prone figure, he could hear a quiet, high-pitched whine. Looking for the source of the sound, he spotted a mobile phone lying on the ground just beyond the burglar's outstretched fingers. As he watched, the phone spontaneously combusted.

Keeping a wary eye on the flaming device, he circled around in the opposite direction, his gun still trained on the burglar. The man lay completely still, although now that he could see him from a different angle, something else seemed odd. The man's features were contorted in a rictus of pain, and blood appeared to be trickling from his ears and nostrils.

The officer had a very bad feeling about the whole scene. He took one instinctive step back and then another, tucking the flashlight under his arm so he could reach for his radio to call for backup. Before he could press the call button, something that had been deeply buried within the burglar's body exploded, releasing a small but deadly cloud of flying razor-sharp fragments of jerramán crystal mingled with splintered bone. The sound of his dog's frantic barking was the last thing the officer's mind registered before his soul exited this world.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

 _Morning  
Eirian House  
Her Majesty's private suite  
December 19, 2021_

Lord Neville MacRorie, the latest in a line of Earls of Culdi stretching back to before the Haldane Restoration, stood attentively before Her Majesty Sophia II, his proud shoulders only slightly stooped with age. "All the surviving members of the Privy Council have been contacted, Ma'am, as well as the Great Council, for the swearing of their oaths of fealty to Your Majesty on Tuesday. I would have arranged for them to do so tomorrow, but some will be flying or taking a train in and may require the extra time for making travel arrangements and getting past the current tight security at Rhemuth Airport and Kingsmeade Station. Not to mention they will each need to be carefully vetted before being allowed into the Royal Presence to ensure Your Majesty's safety."

"Tuesday should be fine, Lord MacRorie. Is the Great Hall here at Eirian House large enough to hold the full assembly, though? It's only around half the size of the Great Hall at Rhemuth Castle, after all."

"It should be, Ma'am. If it's not, we can set up in the King's Courtyard under protective wards, as there is a light sprinkling of snow in the forecast. The alternative would have been holding Court at Valoret, but even though that would have been more centrally located, I'm afraid that the palace at Valoret is less prepared to host a multitude of guests at this time than we are, not to mention the security still needs upgrading, being even less up-to-date than Rhemuth Castle's was. Lord Arilan has offered to take a closer look at that and offer suggestions for improvement when time permits."

"Please ask if he would take Mr Carbury with him when he goes. Mr Carbury has quite an innovative mind, from what I've seen."

The Earl chuckled. "Indeed he does. I shall make a note to ask." He consulted his list. "Have you given any thought to whom you should like to invite to be your ladies-in-waiting?"

"I have." Sophia handed her Lord Chamberlain the list she had written down the night before while sleep had eluded her.

He took a quick glance at it before tucking it securely inside his tablet cover. "I shall see they are contacted this afternoon, Ma'am."

"That reminds me, Lord MacRorie, am I permitted to use my mobile phone again?"

He looked back up at her. "Oh yes, Ma'am, at least as long as you are on Eirian House grounds. That should be perfectly fine now. And if you will allow us another day or two, we should be able to make it at least relatively safe for use from any other warded location as well."

* * *

 _Later Morning  
Eilonwy and Patrick Adams' flat  
City of Rhemuth  
December 19, 2021_

The sound of muted bells ringing throughout the City drew Jennifer DeLisle's gaze out her guest room window at the crowd of people gathering at the Cathedral yet again. Not that they had ever really left - not fully - but as the sun rose in the sky on this first Sunday morning after the Castle attack, they seemed to have grown even more dense than before. She sensed someone approach behind her and turned to see Eilonwy in the doorway. "Ready?" her hostess asked.

"As I'm ever likely to be," Jen replied, "although for once in my life I'd just as soon _not_ go to the Cathedral today. It's bound to be a crush if we even try to go _near_ the place, much less _in_ it."

Eilonwy looked past her at the scene in the distance and winced. "I see your point. All right, Holy Cross, then? It's about the same distance from here, but in the opposite direction."

"Works for me," Jen replied, picking up her purse.

Eilonwy's phone rang, and she reached in her dress pocket for it, about to turn the ringer off, but when she saw whose face appeared on the screen she nearly dropped the phone in her excitement. Answering swiftly, she all but babbled, "Soph . . . ah, _Your Majesty!"_

Jen rushed to Eilonwy's side as she heard a familiar laugh over the phone's speaker. "Did you just offer me a sofa? I must say, that's the oddest greeting I've had yet!" their friend from university days teased.

"No, I meant . . . !" Eilonwy burst into laughter as well. "All right, then, I see your sense of humor hasn't changed, at least. Where are . . .Wait, are you allowed to answer that?"

"I'm afraid not just yet, although it should be announced sometime later today. Listen, I can't talk long, I'm sure Father is nearly ready to begin Mass, so I ought to head over to the Chapel shortly. But I wanted to let you know and Jen also - is she still staying with you?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Eilonwy answered, glancing at Jen.

"Excellent! The Earl of Culdi should be contacting you later today, but I wanted a chance to speak with you personally first." There was a pause before she continued, "I'm in need of ladies-in-waiting, but . . . in light of recent events, I would understand if you needed a bit of time to consider first. My location is as secure as it's possible to make it, but there's still some . . . ."

"Yes." Eilonwy beamed. "Yes, Ma'am!"

Sophia giggled. "Well, you _could_ have let me finish my sentence! I've been rehearsing it in my head all morning. If Jen's there, could you please hand her the phone?"

Jennifer took the phone from Eilonwy. "Are you certain an Americian is allowed to serve Your Majesty as a lady-in-waiting?" she asked.

"Only if you promise not to dump my perfectly good darja in your nasty Colonial harbor," the Queen all but purred.

Jen laughed. "I'm a historian, Ma'am. I'd not miss out on _this_ opportunity for all the world!"

* * *

 _Almost noon  
En route to Church of the Holy Cross  
City of Rhemuth  
December 19, 2021_

"You didn't tell her?!" Patrick stared at his wife, who bit her lip, looking flustered.

"No, it completely slipped my mind!" Eilonwy confessed, glancing at Jen. "We were just so happy to hear her voice, and so caught up in the moment . . . ."

"It's really not the sort of news we could break over the phone," Jen added.

Some passers-by walked past them, and in mutual silent accord the three discontinued their conversation until the other pedestrians were out of earshot. "She'll need to be told soon," Patrick informed his wife and house guest quietly as soon as it was safe to resume their conversation. "If an official announcement is supposed to let the public know where she is this afternoon, then it seems likely that the Great and Privy Councillors will be convening there sometime in the next day or two to swear fealty. She needs to be told _before_ that happens, and so does the Duke of Corwyn!"

The excited glow left their faces, making Patrick feel like a heel for spoiling their joy, but there were greater things at stake. "Did she say when she'd be calling for you?"

Eilonwy shook her head. "No, but if you're right, I would imagine very soon. I mean, if everyone else is swearing in, wouldn't we be asked to as well?"

Patrick nodded, feeling somewhat reassured. "And His Grace should be there as well. All right, that's going to cut quite close, but I suppose if it must wait a little longer, it must. But at your first private moment together, she _must_ be told. Don't forget!"

Blue eyes and brown met his gaze with solemn expressions. "We won't," said Jen.

* * *

 _Earlier that same morning  
Marbury Police Headquarters  
December 19, 2021_

"Yes, I received the sketches DI Montague sent over from Rhemuth," Detective Inspector Mary Hamilton in Marbury told Lady Maureen and Peter. "I'm chuffed there's been a surge of interest in trying to find Colin, don't get me wrong, but can you tell me why Rhemuth PD has taken a sudden interest and why two Deryni civilians are now involved?"

Maureen and Peter exchanged a moment of silent inquiry and decision before Maureen replied to the question. "We can't say for certain at this point, but Colin's disappearance might be at least tangentially related to the attack on Rhemuth Castle. My son-in-law is a DI in Anti-Terrorism, and according to some evidence found at the crime scene Colin's father appears to be the lead suspect in the actual infiltration and bombing, if not necessarily the originator of the plot against the Crown. There is some speculation that Colin might have been abducted to use as leverage to force Lloyd O'Malley to act as he did. If that is the case, then if Colin can be found and can tell us anything about his abductor, that might be of help to Rhemuth PD in solving their case as well."

"I see." DI Hamilton sat back in her chair and studied the pair seated across her desk from her. "And how do you two come into the picture?"

"Well . . . " Maureen gave Peter an uncertain glance. "If I'm going to have nightly nightmares about the boy anyhow, I figured I might as well come here and see if there's any way to help out. I may not be on the police force, Ma'am, but I've served as a consultant from time to time. If you're willing to accept volunteer help from two trained Deryni, that is. I am fairly sure that the boy in my dreams is your missing O'Malley boy, but even if he's not, I get the very strong sense that the child I'm seeing is running out of time."

Hamilton nodded as she considered Maureen's statement. She glanced at Peter. "And you? What's your involvement?"

"I'm Lady Maureen's friend." He smiled at Maureen. "Not to mention her temporary chauffeur and general dogsbody as required."

"I see. Any relation to the Peter Astari who owns the hotel chain?"

Peter inclined his head. "Guilty as charged."

"Interesting." She stroked her chin, studying them both. "I suppose I should be honored to have a duke's daughter and one of Gwynedd's wealthiest tycoons dropping everything to volunteer their services to find a missing boy, but I have one more question for the two of you before I decide whether or not that would be appropriate." She leaned forward, planting both hands on the desk between herself and her visitors. "Who is the man who blew the hell up all over one of my constables early this morning, killing him in the process, and what was he doing trying to break into the O'Malley home?"

* * *

 _Late Morning  
Tre-Arilan  
December 19, 2021_

"What would you say Mr Whitfield's chances are of making a full recovery?" Carbury asked the visiting Healer who had stopped in to check on the patients remaining under his care. "His Lordship would like to know."

Healer Dr Karim Al-Sayid thought back on his examination of Tom Whitfield with a sigh. "I'm afraid he's still got a long road ahead of him. The psychic attack did a great deal of mind damage, and he may never fully recover, though I think he will recover most of his mental functions in time. I really need to consult with Healer O'Flynn on this patient as well as the one at Coroth Castle before I can commit to a more definite prognosis."

"The _patient_ at Coroth, sir?" Carbury raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Not the prisoner?"

"She's both," Karim assured him. "Though that's another matter I will need to consult with O'Flynn about. It seems your home intruder was not acting under her own initiative. At least not entirely her own. There were . . . mitigating circumstances." Stopping in front of Lady Violet's door, he asked, "Has Healer O'Flynn stopped back by yet this morning?"

"No, I'm fairly certain she is still at Eirian House," Carbury replied. "Her Majesty has gone on to her summer palace for the duration, and Healer O'Flynn accompanied her on the trip over. I believe His Lordship plans on bringing her back presently; he and the Lord Chamberlain are working on re-energizing the Eirian House Transfer Portal this morning, so once that's done, I'll sure they'll both return just as soon as His Lordship is quite certain that neither he nor Miss O'Flynn shall end up stuck in _t-_ space for all time. That would be rather a nuisance, I'm afraid."

Karim laughed. "Yes, I'm certain it would be. Well, please have him ring me when he gets a chance; I need to speak with him about Mrs Whitfield's condition. For that matter, I'm sure Her Majesty would wish to hear the update as well, as it may have some bearing on more than just Tre-Arilan's and the Council Chamber's security. And I also need for O'Flynn to contact me."

"I shall be glad to convey the messages, sir. And as for Lady Violet, sir?"

"Well, let's just see about Lady Violet, shall we?" Healer Dr Karim braced himself before entering his cantankerous patient's door.

* * *

 _Early afternoon  
Marbury Castle  
December 19, 2021_

Lady Alicia Coris was beyond annoyed. Several attempts to call Peter Astari had gone unanswered, as had her attempts to call Lady Maureen. Tom Whitfield was clearly in no shape to show up for a Camberian Council meeting, much less serve as coadjutor in Peter's absence, and Lady Violet had still not been pronounced fit to return to regular duties. Or so at least Alicia gathered, since Karim had left earlier to check on her recovery and had not yet returned to Alicia's lodgings in Marbury, where the two of them tended to spend their rare days off together.

That left only four out of eight Council members possibly available to meet - perhaps five if they were to meet at Lady Violet's bedside, though only if Lord James and Father Devlin could both manage to be excused from Her Majesty's presence long enough to attend if Alicia were to summon them to Council. But without those members present, that left only herself and Elspeth McIntyre to meet together to discuss the important question of the Haldane succession, and that was worse than useless. Not only were two Council Members not a quorum, considering Elspeth's strongly anti-monarchical sentiments the entire meeting would probably consist of little more than the waspish little bitch crowing with glee!

Her phone rang. Alicia checked the screen to see who was calling, and was relieved to see Maureen's number. She answered. "Hello, Maureen! It's about time you called me back. Where are you, and is Peter with you?"

Maureen's reply was as startling as it was unexpected. "Sweet Saint Camber!" Alicia exclaimed. "All right, give me a few minutes; I'll be right there."

* * *

 _Earlier that day  
Marbury Police Station  
DI Hamilton's office  
December 19, 2021_

"Who is the man who blew the hell up all over one of my constables early this morning, killing him in the process, and what was he doing trying to break into the O'Malley home?" DI Hamilton asked Peter and Maureen, carefully gauging their reactions to the sudden change of direction in her inquiries.

Both looked completely taken aback. "I'm sorry?" Peter replied first. "What man? Are you saying there was an intruder found at the O'Malley residence?"

"I . . . ." Maureen glanced at Peter, seeming genuinely confused. Peter appeared equally uncomprehending. "We don't have any idea, Ma'am," Maureen answered.

Both suspects turned almost in unison toward the door as they finished answering the question. Hamilton sighed. "You can come in now, MacGregor. They've sensed you out there." She waited for her Deryni colleague to comply, waiting until he'd closed the door behind him and stood leaning against it in a deceptively casual pose before asking him, "How did they Truth-Read?"

"They were telling the truth," DI MacGregor assured her. "At least about that last question. I couldn't very well Truth-Read them on the earlier ones without revealing my presence, but if you want to ask them again . . . ?"

DI Hamilton studied the two visitors carefully before making a judgment call. At last she went with her gut. She was no Deryni, but her instincts usually stood her in good stead. "No, I think they've been leveling with us. And I trust Montague's judgment. If he's sent them to help, then I'm willing to take that at face value."

DI Montague hadn't exactly meant for her to turn up in Marbury, Maureen reflected, though this hardly seemed to be the time to volunteer that information.

"Lady Maureen and Mr Astari," DI MacGregor continued, "I'm afraid that this matter has turned quite a bit more complicated now that we're dealing not just with a missing person and possible homicide, but also with what appears to be a related burglary attempt culminating in a proven homicide. So if you would truly like to help with the O'Malley case, perhaps you can tell us why an Unregistered Deryni might have attempted to gain entry into the O'Malley's home at a time when Mrs O'Malley was away from home, and why - no, never mind why - _how_ his body apparently exploded and left one of our officers dead. Does that MO sound like anything either of you have ever heard of before?"

Maureen, turning pale with horror, shook her head mutely. Peter looked grim. "Your guess is as good as mine as to why he might have tried to break in," he said, "although we had also planned on stopping by the O'Malley home to ask Mrs O'Malley if there might be some toy or article of clothing that we could borrow to help Maureen and I get a better read on Colin. That is, if you don't already happen to have something of his here in the station." Looking at DI MacGregor, he added, "I imagine you've probably tried that already."

"I have," he told them. "I'm actually assigned to Homicide, not Missing Persons, though as a favor to DI Hamilton here, I gave it a go. I picked up several impressions that seem to correlate to the images Lady Maureen sketched, but unfortunately not anything more useful than that."

"Did you try map dowsing?" Maureen asked.

He grimaced. "Tried, yes. Unfortunately my skill in that area is not nearly as finely tuned as our colleague Montague's. I concur with his conclusion that the boy is somewhere between here and Iomaire, though that still covers a pretty wide area. I don't suppose either of you has a particular talent in that area?"

"Hard to say unless we're permitted to try, sir," Maureen replied. "Might we try?"

MacGregor deferred to Hamilton on the decision. "I'm inclined to let you," the Missing Persons detective said, "though let's see if you can answer a few more of DI MacGregor's questions first."

Peter and Maureen turned their attention back to the homicide detective.

"Where were the two of you last night just after midnight?" MacGregor asked, Truth-Reading them openly now.

"At my hotel here in Marbury, in the penthouse suite," Peter supplied.

"Together?"

Maureen's cheeks turned pink. "Not exactly."

"Same suite, different rooms," Peter supplied. "Since you already know we told you the truth about not knowing about your exploding burglar, how is this relevant?"

"Just double-checking. Lady Maureen's answer earlier seems to establish her innocence well enough. I'm afraid the phrasing of your answer made my Reading inconclusive. So let me reiterate, Mr Astari. Do you either know or suspect you know the person who was seen fleeing the O'Malley house last night just after midnight?"

"I do not."

"And you have not heard of any criminals in Rhemuth or elsewhere using this particular form of murder?"

"I can't very well answer that question unless you give me more details about the murder. You said your Unregistered home invader somehow blew up, and that the explosion also killed a police constable. Was the suspect holding a grenade at the time, or did he shoot a gas main? How exactly did he blow up?" Peter returned the Homicide detective's challenging glare.

"I can't release those details at this time," MacGregor said.

"Then how can you expect me to answer the question?"

MacGregor studied him for a long moment, then reached into his jacket pocket to pull out a tiny plastic pouch. Concealing the contents from view, he unsealed one end. "Hold out your hand, Mr Astari."

Peter, his eyes wary, held out one upturned palm. MacGregor emptied out the bag over it.

With a blistering curse, Peter nearly overturned his chair, his face ashen. "You pulled this from the dead constable, didn't you?"

"Yes. Are you an Empath? Sorry." MacGregor's tone failed to quite match the apology.

"Bloody git!" Peter muttered. Turning his hand palm-down over DI Hamilton's desk, he allowed the shard of crystal on it to drop to the desktop. "That's a jerramán crystal, or what's left of one at least. And no, I've not heard of any cases of murder by jerramáni in Rhemuth lately, or even less recently, though admittedly it's been awhile since I've frequented the sorts of circles where I'd be likely to have heard rumors of that sort. I know you've run your criminal through the Registry banks, but have you checked the International Crime Bank as well?"

"We're still waiting on Forensics to come back with enough identifiers from his DNA code to check for a match," MacGregor informed him. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I'd be looking at someone from a country with a more sophisticated understanding of jerramáni spellwork than most people in Gwynedd possess," Peter said. "Perhaps the Torenthi Federation, or Constantibul. Possibly even Camberia."

Maureen pulled out her phone. "Perhaps Lady Alicia can lend her assistance with expediting those results, Mr MacGregor," she said, looking not at all pleased by the detective's cavalier treatment of Peter. "I believe she's in Marbury this weekend; shall I call her?"

* * *

 _Early afternoon  
Eirian House Great Hall  
December 19, 2021_

Jennifer DeLisle looked around the majestic Great Hall at Eirian House. While it wasn't as large as the Great Hall at Rhemuth Castle, it was still an impressive area despite that with its soaring 13th Century architecture and its spacious interior redecorated in a Neo-Medieval style just a decade earlier. A sizeable crowd of dignitaries had begun to filter in from the nearer areas of Gwynedd, although not in such numbers that they threatened to overfill the Hall. Jen knew that their numbers would increase significantly by the time of Tuesday's Accession Council.

Eilonwy, duke's granddaughter that she was, appeared remarkably unfazed by the splendor of their surroundings despite her own modest living standards , but Jen felt overwhelmed with awe at the centuries of history she could practically sense emanating from the very walls of the ancient palace, not to mention a bit starstruck by some of the eminent personages she occasionally recognized among the new arrivals.

"Is that the Earl of Culdi I just spotted up near the Royal Dais?" Jen whispered to Eilonwy as her friend peered at the various passers-by around them, apparently seeking someone in particular.

Eilonwy took a quick glance in the direction indicated. "I believe so, yes."

"So, who is it we're looking for?" Jen asked.

"His Grace of Corwyn," Eilonwy answered her. "He's supposed to be meeting us to escort us to Her Majesty."

"Oh, really?" Jen grinned. "I don't suppose the present-day model is anywhere near as dishy as his Kelsonian era counterpart?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to judge for yourself," a voice behind them answered, sounding amused. Jen turned to see a tall man with sandy blond hair working hard to suppress a laugh. "I'm looking for Eilonwy Sheehan Adams and Dr Jennifer DeLisle." With a questioning smile at Eilonwy, he added "You're Lady Maureen's daughter, yes?"

"I am, Your Grace." Eilonwy sank into a graceful curtsey that Jen hoped she would not have to replicate, never having done one before. Some vague memory surfaced about Americians only being expected to offer a handshake or respectful inclination of the head, not being Gwyneddan subjects, and she seized upon the recollection gratefully. Hopefully His Dishyness of Corwyn would settle for the polite nod; she didn't think she could bring herself to shake his hand just yet without expiring on the spot from heart failure.

"It's been a few years since I've seen any of my McLain cousins, but I thought I recognized you." Turning to Jen, he added, "And that would mean you must be the Kelsonian scholar, Dr DeLisle?" A glint of humor lit up his pale green eyes. He extended his hand, to her intense consternation. She clasped it briefly, hoping her palms remained dry and were not disgracing her further. His smile widened. "Is the 7th Duke of Corwyn well known in Americia, then?"

 _He's doing it on purpose!_ she suddenly realized. _He's enjoying having caught me off guard._ The realization helped to ground her, bringing her back to herself like a sudden splash of cold water. _Oh, it's on now, sir!_ She favored him with a dazzling smile back.

"Not especially, I'm afraid. I'm quite in the minority, having always had a bit of a fascination with medieval history and ancient relics, but I fear the average Americian wouldn't know a Duke of Corwyn from a duck."

"Ah." She could almost feel the silent laughter rolling off him in waves. "That reminds me, speaking of things historical, Her Majesty is waiting." He gestured toward a nearby doorway.

The two women followed, Eilonwy shooting Jen a questioning look. _Were you meaning to bait the man?_

 _He started it._

* * *

 _Afternoon  
Tre-Arilan undercroft  
December 19, 2021_

"It is good to see you back, my lord," Carbury said as Lord Arilan stepped out of the Transfer Portal with Heather. "And you as well, Healer O'Flynn. Did you wish to check on Mr Whitfield? Healer Dr Al-Sayid stopped in a bit earlier and gave Lady Violet a clean bill of health, so I am afraid you've just missed her."

"Well, darn, so sorry to hear that!" Heather said quite cheerfully, causing the corners of Carbury's lips to quirk upwards almost microscopically.

"The Portal at Eirian House has been re-energized, I see."

"Yes, we got it sorted this morning," James informed him. "Any messages?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, my lord. Healer Dr Al-Sayid requested that you both call him at your earliest opportunity. He would like a second opinion not only on Mr Whitfield's condition and prognosis, but also on Mrs Whitfield's as well."

James glanced at Heather, who looked equally baffled. "On _Mrs_ Whitfield's? Our uninvited visitor who enjoys cooking with acrinious gas?"

Carbury inclined his head. "The same, sir."

"Well, that's interesting. I'll call him at once."

"Shall I bring Healer O'Flynn upstairs to see Mr Whitfield now?"

"Yes, please."

Carbury started to escort Heather to the hidden staircase, though in Mind-Speech he told James privately, _The Chief of Intelligence would like for you to track down Lloyd O'Malley's financials at your earliest opportunity. There has been a break in the Rhemuth Castle terrorist case, and Mr Whitfield's hunch about his involvement seems to have been substantiated, but there are still no leads as to who might have hired him. Not knowing when you might be free, I have taken the liberty of beginning that task in your absence._

 _Thank you, Carbury._

James heard the carved wood paneling at the top of the staircase slide open. As Heather exited onto the ground floor ahead of Carbury, James heard his butler's Mind-Speech once more in his mind.

 _Ah, yes, I nearly forgot! Lady Alicia Coris called earlier as well. She asked me to tell you to 'pick up your effing phone.' I may have communicated her message to you a shade more delicately than she conveyed it to me, sir; she seemed rather upset at the time._

 _That's odd, and not much like Alicia at all. Did she happen to say why?_

 _Not exactly, sir. Something about needing to meet here, but that she 'couldn't get enough together to form a bloody quorum.' It didn't make very much sense at all, I regret to say. But she says it absolutely has to happen before Tuesday, whatever 'it' is._

Before Tuesday. Why before then? The thought of the upcoming Accession Council flitted through James' mind, and he felt his gut clench.

 _I'll follow up with her immediately. Thank you._


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

 _Afternoon  
Eirian House  
Her Majesty's personal suite  
December 19, 2021_

"Are you absolutely certain?" Sophia asked quietly, feeling slightly faint. "I'm Gran- I'm Nigel's daughter, not Araxelle's?"

"I'm afraid so," Eilonwy said. "Patrick says the evidence looks quite conclusive."

Jen, noticing her sudden pallor, asked, "Are you OK? Maybe you should put your feet up or something."

That surprised a startled laugh from the Queen - or was she even still the Queen? Jen wasn't entirely sure how to think of Sophia's role now, given the precarious position the circumstances of her birth had placed her in. "Jen, I'm the medical doctor here. I'm shocked, yes, but not _that_ shocky." Sophia gave her friends a tremulous smile. "If I think I'm about to pass out, I'll try to do the courteous thing and let you know first." She took a deep breath. "Eilonwy, you're Deryni, aren't you?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Eilonwy answered, glancing at Jen. "We both are."

"Then would you Mind-Share with me that actual conversation between your husband and Lady Alicia? I would like to See the evidence myself, if I might."

"Yes, Ma'am. Patrick or Lady Alicia would be better at explaining the more technical details that led to their conclusions, but I can show you our conversation last night, at least."

There was a knock at the door, and a concerned voice on the other side said, "Your Majesty? Is everything all right?"

Sophia gestured to Jen to let her armsman in. "That will be Michael checking on me. He's probably picked up on my distress." As Jen opened the door, Sophia assured her guard, "I'm all right, I just received some disturbing news. Would you please arrange for the Duke of Corwyn to attend me?" After a moment's thought, she added, "And Father Devlin as well."

Her armsman gave a quick glance around the room, still looking uneasy, his sidearm at the ready, but perceiving no immediate threat he holstered the weapon, inclining his head in acknowledgement of Her Majesty's request. "Yes, Ma'am," he told her, closing the door behind him as he left to carry out her wishes.

"Well, that was exciting," Jen murmured as the man left. "Shades of 'don't shoot the messenger'!"

Sophia chuckled, thankful for a bit of levity to ease the strain of the moment. "That's a very expensive, hand-knotted carpet you're standing on, Jen. Michael knows better than to get it blood-stained unless that's strictly necessary." Turning more serious again, she offered her hand to Eilonwy. "Show me."

Eilonwy took Sophia's hand with an apologetic smile, establishing a shallow level of rapport to begin the Mind-Sharing.

* * *

"Is anyone else with Her Majesty just now?" the Duke of Corwyn asked Sophia's armsman once he arrived at her private suite.

"Just the two new ladies-in-waiting, Your Grace," Michael answered, reaching for the door to admit the Duke into the Queen's presence.

A hint of mischief lit up Morgan's eyes. "In that case, would you please announce me as 'the _Duck_ of Corwyn'?"

Michael looked hesitant. "I'm not sure this would be the appropriate time, Your Grace. Her Majesty seems quite distressed."

Morgan sobered at once. "In that case, I'd better see what's up."

Nodding, Michael opened the suite door, announcing "The Duke of Corwyn, Your Majesty" as he ushered Morgan in, closing the door discreetly behind the duke after he had entered the room.

Morgan was astonished to see his cousin rise, only to sink into a deep curtsey before him. "There is some important news you need to hear, Your Majesty."

He looked at the faces turned towards him, searching for some hint that this was a practical joke, perhaps one instigated by the pretty Americian scholar. They all looked perfectly solemn. Even worse, his Deryni senses could pick up no trace of suppressed amusement. If anything, he was picking up on suppressed agitation as the other women followed Sophia's example.

 _"_ _Khadasa!_ No, you can't do this to me! No!" He all but snatched his cousin up from her curtsey, shaking his head, bewildered. "This is not . . . What is going on here?" A surge of fury mingled with panic swept through him. He focused in on Dr DeLisle. "Did _you_ put her up to this?" He knew it was an unfair accusation, but his mind refused to comprehend what was happening. He stared at the two ladies-in-waiting flanking Sophia. "Get up, damn it!"

Eilonwy held out her hand very hesitantly. "Your Majesty, it might be easiest if I just Mind-Share with you what we've just recently learned."

"Will you _stop calling me that!"_

"My Prince?" Still holding out her hand to him, Eilonwy met his gaze with a determined look of her own.

He reached out, pulling her upright while lowering his shields just enough to allow her limited rapport. She Mind-Shared with him the same information she had shared with Sophia earlier, her Sharing tinged with a hint of unspoken apology.

He absorbed the scene unfolding in his mind, tried to make sense of the words and visions flooding his consciousness. The implications of the detective's and the geneticist's discovery hit him like a swift kick in the gut. His knees felt shaky, and he fumbled for a chair. It belatedly occurred to him that he'd left the Americian woman in mid-curtsey, looking at him quite uncertainly, and he gave her an impatient gesture to rise.

There was a quiet knock on the door, and Morgan waited for a brief moment for Sophia to respond before it hit him that she was probably waiting on him. "Enter!" he growled, and the door opened. "Father Devlin O'Shiele, Ma' . . . Your Grace?" Michael's confused look reflected how Morgan felt about the entire scenario. He made no attempt to explain the situation. Hopefully this was all a nightmare, and he would wake up soon.

"Thank you," Sophia said, dismissing her armsman to his profound relief. Devlin approached, sensing the undercurrents in the room but with no knowledge of their cause. He started to bow to Sophia, but she stopped him, gesturing towards Morgan instead.

"I think His Majesty may need you right now," she told him, gesturing to her ladies to follow her as she discreetly left the room.

* * *

 _Afternoon  
Marbury Police Headquarters  
DI Hamilton's office  
December 19, 2021_

"There, that's sorted!" Captain Lady Alicia Coris of the Royal Army Military Police Forensics Unit told DI MacGregor as she got off the phone with Marbury's Forensics lab, her voice just a shade too polite. "You'll have your lab results first thing in the morning. And _now_ . . . ." Her voice rose meaningfully on the word. "Where would you keep your maps?"

Judging by her tone, MacGregor decided it would be in his best interests to respond swiftly, lest the superior officer be tempted to tell him where he might stick said maps if he didn't comply. He ushered her to the precinct's small library, nervously indicating the shelf holding the requested resources.

"Will these do, Lady Maureen? Mr Astari?" Her exaggerated courtesy seemed uncomfortably directed at him rather than at the two visiting Deryni, as if to underscore her disapproval of his previous actions. MacGregor wondered how much either of them had shared with Lady Alicia via private Mind-Speech about his interrogation of them. Not that he would have changed his line of questioning even if she'd have been present - in his view, it had been necessary - although he might have followed up with Mr Astari a little more tactfully. He wondered if Lady Alicia was aware that Astari had a police record, albeit one with no charges on it from the past three decades. Still, whether that meant he'd keep his hands clean since his misspent youth or whether he'd simply been clever enough not to be caught in a crime since his juvenile years, MacGregor couldn't say. Could Lady Alicia? Given her current mood, he certainly didn't plan on being the one to ask her! Not unless it came to prove necessary, at any rate.

Lady Maureen selected an atlas that looked much like the one she had seen in DI Montague's office in Rhemuth, flipping through it until she found the page that showed the Iomaire area. Looking up, she asked, "Do you happen to have a ruler handy?"

DI Hamilton retrieved one from a desk drawer and handed it over, watching Maureen curiously. Peter asked, "Do you have something of Colin's that Maureen could use for this?"

Hamilton nodded, leaving the room briefly and returning a short time later with a well worn teddy bear. "Colin was playing with this on the morning when he was abducted. It was found on the side of the road outside of his home." She offered it to Peter, but he shook his head, waving her toward Maureen instead.

"Perfect," Maureen said, bracing herself for the psychic impressions that she felt sure were imprinted in the toy from that emotionally charged experience before reaching for the bear. Once it was in her hand, she closed her eyes as DI Montague had demonstrated, placing the ruler at the edge of the map, then lowered her shields.

A surge of fear nearly overwhelmed her, and she faltered, but then she sensed Peter's calming touch on her shoulder, giving her the strength to continue. Slowly she moved the ruler up the page, waiting for her inner sense to tell her when to stop its steady progress. Marking that line as she'd seen Montague do, she tried again from a side edge of the map. Opening her eyes and comparing where the lines crossed to the points dotted on the scanned map Montague had sent over, Maureen was heartened to find out that her mark had ended up in the same general area of Iomaire, in a spot that was centered neatly between two of Montague's dots.

"Do you have a street map of this area?" she asked.

"Not that many streets in that part of the country," MacGregor observed. "It's mostly open range there. But I'll see what we've got."

He pulled out the Ordnance Survey map for the section of Iomaire that Maureen's and Montague's triangulation had indicated and placed it in front of Maureen. She glanced at Peter. "Would you like a go?"

He shook his head. "No, you look like you've got it well in hand."

Maureen used Montague's map dowsing technique again, narrowing down the field several times until the crossed lines were narrowed down to a small area perhaps the size of a Rhemuth city block. She looked up at DI Hamilton. "Would you mind if we search here?"

Hamilton shrugged. "It's certainly worth a shot." She looked at MacGregor. "If these two are no longer suspects in your homicide investigation, are they free to go?"

DI MacGregor took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. "Yes. Although there is one thing they might be able to sort out for me before they leave. One moment." He left the room, returning a few moments later with an evidence bag. Leaving it sealed, he tossed it abruptly at Peter, who caught it out of instinct.

Peter dropped the bag with a blistering curse. "You mangy little gobshite!" he blurted, still reeling from the initial shock. "What the hell was that for?"

"What can you tell me about the man who was wearing this?" MacGregor asked.

Peter reached for the bag again, touching it tentatively. Even through the plastic encasing the small scrap of black fabric, he could sense quite a bit about the wearer's last moments of life. The secondhand experience of a man's death brought up some unwelcome memories for him, which he ruthlessly shoved down. _Focus on the ruddy bastard's case, that's the important thing here,_ he reminded himself.

"Death came as a surprise," he told MacGregor, halfway in a trance state as he relayed the impressions received from the remnant of garment. "He thought he was about to receive help, some sort of rescue, but then pain - unspeakable pain . . . ." He drew his hand back, all but writhing in the shared memory before forcing himself to continue on. "It was a betrayal from a man he trusted, a man from his homeland."

"Who betrayed him? And where was that homeland?" MacGregor asked quietly.

Peter saw what appeared to be a semi-tropical paradise of lushly forested slopes forming a geographical bowl, luxurious homes dotting the landscape here and there under a brilliant sun. A sense of sharp longing came over him, even though Peter knew he'd never been to that place before. "Camberia," he whispered. "I'm pretty sure that's Camberia." A deep sense of anguish came over him, and he added, "Why did you kill me, Your Grace?"

* * *

 _Afternoon  
Outside the Whitfield residence  
A suburb just outside Concaradine  
December 19, 2021_

The sleeper agent sent by Malcolm Atherton-Haldane to determine why Alisandra/Caroline had not yet checked in with him slowly approached the door to the stately Whitfield residence, his keen eyes taking in the details of his surroundings. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary thus far, but then again it had only been two days since his master had last heard from the lady of the house. Even if she had not been home since that time (and that seemed unlikely, although one could not rule out the possibility), the place would hardly have fallen into disrepair in so short a time.

As he walked up the front steps, a neighbor stepped out onto her front porch, studying him curiously. "Are the Whitfields on holiday?" she asked.

" _Are_ they?" he replied, wondering who the busybody was and if he might glean anything useful from her. "I had assumed they'd be in today, but have they been gone for a while?" He pretended to nothing more than a casual interest.

"Well, they've said nothing to _me_ if they are on holiday," the woman replied, "but they've not picked up their mail in three days, and yesterday a parcel was left on their porch most of the morning. I finally brought it in here; I was afraid it might get rained on, you see."

Considering it hadn't rained in Concaradine over the past week, that seemed unlikely, but the man knew better than to alienate the nosy neighbor by revealing his skepticism. "I suppose they _must_ be on holiday, then," he said. "I don't suppose you have any idea of where they've gone or when they might return?"

"No idea, and if anyone would know, you'd think _I_ would. Mr Whitfield would normally tell me, see, given that I normally feed his cat when they go off for one of their hiking expeditions."

"Ah. Well, I suppose they must have left someone else the key this time around." He'd learned all he was likely to from the biddy; it was time he was going now. "If Mrs Whitfield returns soon, would you please tell her that McMaster stopped by? From the workplace." There, that catchphrase ought to have Alisandra scurrying to check in as soon as she was able.

The neighbor sniffed. "If I see her, I'll tell her, though the young missus rarely gives me the time of day. And I don't think they've given a key to anyone else either; at least I've not seen anyone else turn up here besides you." She frowned, looking suddenly uncertain. "Do you think I _ought_ to check on the cat?"

He froze halfway back to his car. "You have a key to their house?"

"Well, yes - as I said, I normally watch over the place and feed the cat when they're off for a weekend or on hols, so Mr Whitfield gave me a copy a while back. But I figured, since they never asked this time, maybe they brought the beastie with them this time around." She looked suddenly unconvinced.

He deliberated. Might Alisandra and her prey have been holed up in the home the entire time, or was it possible that neither had actually returned since setting forth on the master's mission on the 17th? He needed to find out, and the easiest way to accomplish that would be to have a look inside. If this woman had a key, perhaps that would give him the pretext he needed to have a quick look around. "Maybe we should peek in on the place and just make sure the poor animal is all right," he suggested. "After all, I suppose it's possible the Whitfields might have had some emergency come up, and in the excitement forgot to call you - or perhaps each of them assumed the other one had taken care of it already."

She pursed her lips, considering the matter for what seemed like half of eternity before deciding. "I suppose that would be all right. I'll have a quick peek then." She headed across the street towards him, and as she passed, he discreetly fell in step behind her, remaining a few paces back as she turned the key in the lock. She swung open the door and stepped in just as a furry black streak ran past her and into the front garden. The neighbor woman didn't seem to notice, so engrossed was she in the sight before her.

"Hello, what's all this?"

The agent entered quietly behind her, taking note of the weapons and poison stash that Alisandra had left carelessly lying out before she left. No, she'd definitely not been home since leaving for her mission, and something must have happened to prevent her return, because he felt sure she would have come back for her precious supplies if nothing else before leaving Gwynedd. They were far too incriminating, left lying out like this, or even hidden on the premises at all. No, she and her husband had simply disappeared without a trace, and now this nosy parker would need to be silenced as well.

Would it be best to simply blur her memories, or did she need to be eliminated altogether? There were pros and cons to each option. Killing her would certainly silence her for good, yet a neighbor's death occurring within mere days of the Whitfields' disappearance might raise questions from Gwyneddan law enforcement that could lead to complications for his master somehow - he wasn't entirely sure how they might trace either occurrence back to him, but why take the chance? Blurring her memories would probably be safer. A close examination of her mind might reveal his tampering, but why would anyone think to take so close a look at her memories in the first place? And there wouldn't be the bother of needing to hide a body. Blurring it was, then.

He placed a hand on the woman's shoulder, insinuating a tendril of psychic influence into her unshielded mind as he did so. "Let's have a peek in the kitchen, shall we? Here, kitty kitty!" As they walked through the house and out the rear door, he deftly erased all memories of his visit and of what she'd seen in the Whitfield's home from her mind.

* * *

 _Late evening  
Eirian House  
Sophia's personal suite  
December 19, 2021_

"There has got to be some way of fixing this mess," Morgan Haldane, the legitimate monarch of Gwynedd, groused. "Trust Nigel to get the succession this FUBARed! The man should have had his zippers spot-welded shut!"

"Fubarred?" Eilonwy inquired quietly of no one in particular.

Father Devlin leaned toward her and whispered, "Fouled up beyond all recognition."

"To be fair, he had a bit of help from Grandmother Sybilla in that also," Sophia added, "since Moth- I mean _Araxelle_ wasn't Nigel's daughter either." After a moment's thought, she added, "I suppose that means my adoptive mother was actually my step-sister, since we didn't actually share either parent. That seems so odd!"

"I suppose if you don't want to be King, Sir, you could always abdicate," Jen mused. "After all, there _is_ precedent. When King Jarran began showing symptoms of the falling sickness, back in 1696, he abdicated the throne in favor of his younger brother Joram. Later, Joram died without issue, and the succession reverted back to Jarran briefly, but by that time he had a son to inherit the throne when he died a year later."

"Hm." Morgan considered the idea. "That's a thought. Thank you."

"I'm not sure that would work in this particular case," Sophia said, looking dubious. "After all, Joram was a legitimate claimant."

"You're just as much a Haldane as Joram was!" Morgan protested.

"Yes, but not a legitimate one," Sophia countered.

"We all know _now_ that Joram was a legitimate claimant," Jen reminded her, "since genetic research has shown that the Haldane lineage has continued unbroken for as far back as we've been able to obtain DNA samples from the Cathedral crypts to trace - not to say there weren't ever any cuckoos hiding in the family nest, but there were none who actually inherited the throne and passed the Crown on to his or her heirs. But remember, despite his father's acknowledgement of him as a Haldane, Joram's legitimacy was at least quietly questioned by many back in the day. His mother, Agnietta of Autun, was executed just a couple of years after his birth for treason because of her lack of skirt weights."

Morgan raised a brow at that. "Lack of skirt weights?"

"Yes. Her skirts kept flying up in the presence of certain lords of the Court."

Despite the gravity of the situation he found himself in, Morgan found himself fighting a losing battle against the urge to smirk at the mental image that popped into his head. "How does a Kelsonian scholar happen to know so much about late 17th Century court politics?" he asked.

"I read, Sire."

"I'm glad you're so well read on my family history."

"Mainly the earlier centuries, though I've read some of the more interesting bits from later generations as well. Your 17th Century progenitors were a randy lot. It's astonishing half the continent isn't Haldane. You probably have the Great Sweat to thank for that."

"Hm. Yes, speaking of potential pretenders to the throne, if I abdicate in favor of Sophia, there's a good chance that the Atherton-Haldanes might attempt to make a claim, being heirs male. How do we get around that?" Morgan glanced at Sophia.

"The original Act of Attainder from 1792 barring Prince Halbert and his descendants from the Gwyneddan succession ought to still be in force, although Princess Adelia marrying into the Atherton-Haldane line around a century ago might give our Camberian cousins some ideas that they could claim a birthright through her instead," Sophia reflected. "While that may seem almost like ancient history to us, it's actually not; the current King and Heir of Camberia are Princess Adelia's sons, so that's only one generation between them and the Haldane line on the maternal side. Under present circumstances, it might be a good idea to reaffirm the attainder in any case, since neither of us has any heirs yet to secure the succession, and I can't imagine the Atherton-Haldanes have lost their aspirations to the throne of Gwynedd in recent years."

"Right," said Morgan. "So we need more Haldane heirs. When do you plan to get on that, Sophia?"

Sophia laughed. " _You're_ the legitimate Haldane here, cousin, not to mention still Duke of Corwyn as well. When do _you_ plan to 'get on that'?"

"If the two of you were to marry each other and produce heirs, that would eliminate any questions of rightful succession," Eilonwy offered. "Your degree of kinship is distant enough, I don't think you'd even need a dispensation from the Archbishop, and your second child could inherit Corwyn."

Morgan Haldane looked like he'd swallowed a bug, causing Sophia to laugh even harder.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

 _Early afternoon  
A rural area in Northern Iomaire  
December 20, 2021_

Detective Inspector Mary Hamilton stopped the car at the edge of the gravel road in front of a small white building. "It's a church!" A shiver of foreboding coursed through her. "Oh, no, tell me the boy's not buried in the graveyard!"

Lady Maureen shook her head, reaching out with her senses. This close to their quarry, there was little need for the maps anymore, or even for the various means of scrying she was more accustomed to. The boy was close by - with her shields down and her mind actively searching for him, she could sense his hunger and fear easily - but she didn't think he was buried in the graveyard. Not there. But quite close.

They exited the four-wheel drive vehicle, looking around them to get their bearings. Peter pointed down a slight slope at a line of trees edging a shallow creek bed. "I think he's somewhere in that direction."

They proceeded in that direction, Peter gallantly helping Maureen over the unstable footing as the gradual slope became slightly more steep as they drew closer to the water. An irregularity in the terrain drew the detective's attention, and she pointed it out to the others. "What's that?" Hamilton asked.

Lady Alicia veered in that direction, the others following closely after her. The ruins of some ancient building - little more than a stone foundation left, surrounded by rubble - were mostly hidden behind the treeline, but as the party grew closer, the eroded outlines of the low stone walls began to emerge. Maureen stopped, closing her eyes and miming the act of sketching in the air to better visualize what the original structure must have looked like. "I think it was a farm cottage once, centuries ago," she told them.

As they drew closer, DI Hamilton muttered an expletive under her breath. "There, Lady Maureen. Do you think _that_ might be the pipe from your sketches - the air vent?"

Peter stood stock still. "That's where he is. That's the place." He gave Maureen a trapped look. "I'd best not get any closer," he murmured.

She squeezed his hand in silent empathy. Aloud she said, "Peter, perhaps you ought to call for assistance. We may require a Healer present, if that's possible, or at least an ambulance to transport him to hospital." Maureen gave the detective a look of inquiry. "Now that we know Colin is definitely here, it would be appropriate to call them in now, yes?"

"Yes," Hamilton said, glancing up from where she and Alicia stood peering at the ground within the rough rectangle outlined by the ancient stone foundation. "We could do with a shovel as well. I believe I've got one in the boot, come to think, if one of you could go back and fetch that. And one of you should stay with the car so that the ambulance will know where to stop; this location might be difficult to spot from the road."

* * *

 _Evening  
Tre-Arilan  
December 20, 2012_

"Welcome to Tre-Arilan, ladies, lords, and gentlemen of the Camberian Council! For your safety, please wait within the Portal niche and either His Lordship or I shall be down to admit you shortly."

Carbury's disembodied voice echoed slightly off the stone walls of the undercroft, surprising a laugh from Peter.

"Nice touch," Lady Alicia reluctantly admitted. "I wonder when Carbury added the announcement to the Portal's warning system?"

"Probably within two minutes of you calling Lord Arilan to request he call everyone to convene here for Council," Lady Maureen said, sounding amused. "Just because we all know his Portal signature now, that doesn't mean he'd want us able to drop by uninvited at any time." With a teasing look at Peter, she added, "Though a waiting room with magazines would be an even nicer touch."

Alicia chortled. "Your TP has a waiting room, Peter?"

He shrugged, smiling. "I _am_ a hotelier, after all."

Alicia smiled back, slightly distracted. When she'd finally managed to get a call back from Lord Arilan, he'd informed her that Father Devlin had also spoken with him just a few minutes earlier with his own request for Arilan to convene a Council meeting. She wondered why. Had Maureen's daughter finally managed to contact the Queen with her message regarding the Haldane succession? If so, that would mean her own agenda for the night's meeting was half covered already.

Carbury arrived to allow them through the wards and escort them to the ground level of Lord Arilan's home. "The others are in the dining room already," he informed the new arrivals.

They entered the room to find James already seated at the head of the table, with Father Devlin on one side of him and Elspeth and Lady Violet seated at the other side. The closer end of the table was empty. Peter took his seat at the end, with Lady Maureen and Lady Alicia moving to either side of him. Alicia noted the extra seat sadly. "How is Tom?" she asked their host.

"Faring as well as might be expected," James said. "I checked on him a short while ago."

"I don't suppose Karim is still here?" she asked.

"Actually, yes. He left for a bit earlier in the day, found the note you left for him back in Marbury, and figured you'd probably be busy the rest of the afternoon, so he and Healer O'Flynn are upstairs giving Tom a thorough going over. After that, I think they're hoping to give Mrs Whitfield an even closer look, although that may need to wait until the Duke of Corwyn has a chance to return from Eirian House."

That seemed like it might work as a segue for her matter of business, but thinking back on the earlier part of James' statement left Alicia momentarily sidetracked. "I'm sorry? What about Mrs Whitfield, and why does she need a closer look by two Healers? Did Morgan get overly enthusiastic with his interrogation of the prisoner?"

"That's what I wondered too when Karim referred to her as a patient rather than as a prisoner earlier today," James told her. "What, Lover-Boy hasn't caught you up on the latest news from Corwyn's dungeon?"

"Since when has he had _time?"_ Alicia grumped. "So why don't you go ahead and tell us all, then I've got some news I need to share." She figured once she'd dropped her major bombshell, that would probably sideline any other discussions for the rest of the night, so she might as well let James have his moment in the spotlight first.

"All right," Peter said, stepping in as the lone coadjutor for the evening's meeting. "Tell us about Mrs Whitfield, James. What has Healer Dr Al-Sayid discovered about her?"

James shared an encapsulated version of what Karim had shared with him earlier that day, once he'd finished examining and discharging Lady Violet, adding "After Karim left for Marbury, I set Carbury to pulling up whatever archived records he could find on a missing child named Caroline Alisandra Sheraton, not to mention any more recent mentions. Not a whole lot has popped up yet - hacking into Camberian police records is quite tricky business, for one thing - but a facial recognition search pulled up these interesting images." He turned a piece of paper in front of him face up to reveal a collage of photos of the same woman. "This is the Camberian model Shera Alexander. Look familiar?" He passed the paper around the table, giving the other Council members time to look over it before turning another sheet right-side-up and passing that one around also. "And here is 'Ms Alexander' on the arm of Camberia's heir apparent about five years ago, not too long before she made her final runway appearance, allegedly to retire. Shortly after that, 'Caroline' ended up here in Gwynedd just in time to catch Tom on the rebound from his divorce from his first wife."

Lady Violet inspected the second image briefly, a disquieted look on her face, before pushing it away with a faint moue of distaste. "That's Malcolm Atherton-Haldane, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is."

"He's certainly changed over the years, although he's still recognizable. I met him years ago, you know. I see he's still attracted to the same type," she said, her lips drawn with disapproval.

"Oh? What type is that?" James asked.

"Beautiful young blondes with pouty lips and high cheekbones. Her facial structure looks a good deal like Her late Majesty's did many years ago. That's what caught my eye."

Peter looked puzzled. "Like Her Majesty Queen Araxelle's?"

"What?" Lady Violet looked up at him "Oh, mercy, no! I meant the late Queen Mother, of course. Sybilla of Andelon. Though now that you mention it, Araxelle _did_ have Sybilla's facial structure for the most part, although she got her lovely Haldane coloring from His Majesty Nigel."

 _Not exactly,_ thought Alicia, beginning to wonder if she ought to look at a Camberian source for Araxelle's paternity. The Atherton-Haldanes weren't in the Gwyneddan Registry, unfortunately, so acquiring DNA from them to check for a trait match might be a difficult undertaking. "Are you saying that you think Malcolm of Camberia and Sybilla might have had a fling during his state visit to Gwynedd?" How many years ago had that been? She made a mental note to look up the exact dates later.

"Oh, gracious, I doubt it! What, under Nigel's watchful nose? But there was some talk of Sybilla nearly marrying into the Camberian Royal Family at one time, only she ended up marrying Nigel instead. The more advantageous choice, to be sure, though Court gossip had it that she gave up a love match to wed Nigel."

Peter jotted down a note. "All right, so we need to do a deeper check into this woman's background - find out how a Camberian model ended up getting sent over here to infiltrate Tom's mind and assassinate a Council which, in theory, most Deryni wouldn't even know about at all. At least not beyond vague rumors of our existence." He tapped the pen against his cheek, looking thoughtful. "Who in Camberia would hate the Camberian Council enough to want to kill us all? It's not like we've had any dealings with the Camberians in the past two centuries."

"Well, the Council of Reginald Haldane's day _did_ play a role in their exile to that godforsaken hellhole of an island," Elspeth observed. "Only a third of the original exiles survived long enough to even breed, much less figure out what defensive strategies would help ensure their continued existence in that hostile environment. That's bound to have some scarring effect on an entire culture, and some people hold a grudge for a very long time."

"Granted, but two centuries?" Peter shook his head. "All right. Getting back to James' statement that our Camberian infiltrator is now being treated as a patient, I surmise that she was not acting on her own initiative, but that she's been psychically tampered with in some way to force her to commit the acts that she did. Is that essentially correct, James?"

"I believe so. Or at least Healer Dr. Karim does. Healer O'Flynn hasn't had a chance to examine her yet and give a second opinion, but from what I gathered from Karim, there is extensive evidence of mental tampering, to the point of creating separate personalities who may not even be aware of each others' existence. According to him, Caroline Whitfield was not our attacker at all; that was a separate personality who calls herself Alisandra."

Peter gave a silent whistle. "Well, that certainly puts things in a different light. Please keep us updated on what they find out and if she can be Healed to the point where she is no longer a threat to society."

Father Devlin smiled. " _Everyone_ is potentially a threat to society to some degree, Peter, unless Healers have learned how to eliminate human nature."

"Within realistic expectations, I meant," Peter countered. "All right, then." He glanced at Maureen with a smile. "Lady Maureen and I have a bit of news of our own. This afternoon we were able to assist the Marbury Police Department in locating Lloyd O'Malley's missing son Colin. He is currently under close supervision in hospital at Marbury General. I'm hoping, once he recovers from his ordeal sufficiently to be allowed visitors, that perhaps I'll be able to get some information from him that might be useful in tracking down the persons responsible for the Rhemuth Castle attack."

"That would be good, if he knows anything of use to us, but we're talking about a five year old boy, Peter. How useful is he going to be as a witness? He may not even know the right words yet to express anything he might have heard or seen regarding the terrorists responsible for his kidnapping or the Castle attack," Lady Alicia reminded him.

Peter smiled. "We _are_ Deryni, you know. There are other ways to collect information from a young mind without having to ask him to use his words."

"You're going to Mind-Read him without consent?" Elspeth protested.

"I believe young children aren't legally able to give consent," Peter said, "but no, I do intend to inform his Mum beforehand. I doubt she'll have any objections to me finding out more information about the persons who used her child to force her husband into a suicide bombing so that they can be pursued and brought to trial, but if she does . . . ." He shrugged. "In cases of national security, which this is, I believe there is legal precedent for parental authority to be overridden."

"Yes, if you're in law enforcement, which you're not!" Elspeth reminded him, bristling.

"Or if you are operating under the sanction of someone who _is_ in law enforcement," Peter said. "Do you think I haven't thought this through?" He tapped his pen on the notepad, giving himself a moment to control his irritation.

"If this is a good time for a topic change," Alicia smoothly interposed, "I have a very important issue to bring to the table that I think we ought to discuss, since it also has wide-reaching implications for our Kingdom in that it affects the Haldane succession. If it were to become known to the public, either with or without the consent of the Crown, all hell could break loose."

"That certainly sounds ominous," Peter said. "What sort of issue are we talking about?"

Lady Alicia glanced at Maureen, wondering if Eilonwy Adams had mentioned anything to her yet about the Haldane succession problems, but Maureen looked as unsuspecting of what Alicia was about to share as everyone else at the table. Everyone, that is, except possibly for Father Devlin, who was regarding her with a speculative gleam in his eyes. Well, that would make sense, given that Sophia Haldane had already sought pastoral care from him at least once since the Castle attack. It wouldn't be surprising at all if she'd specifically requested Dev as her personal chaplain during this time of transition. If Alicia were the confessing sort, she might choose Father Devlin too; he certainly seemed like he'd be a good listener, and unlike some clergy he didn't come across as the busybody type whose idea of sharing the Gospel was forcibly cramming it down one's throat.

She took a deep breath, bracing herself for everyone's reaction. "I was recently placed in charge of the DNA testing of samples gathered as evidence after the Rhemuth Castle attack. And those of you who were still conscious will remember Patrick Adams from this past Friday's attack on our Council Chamber, since he was one of the rescuers. The Anti-Terrorism Bureau subsequently assigned him to analyze the data gleaned from my testing to see if any likely suspects for the bombing might be determined from the testing results. While sifting through the data - which _does_ implicate Lloyd O'Malley, by the way - DI Adams discovered the same anomalous results in certain individuals' DNA code strings that I spotted while putting together my initial report." Alicia took a glance around the table at all of the faces turned to her in expectation. "I regret to inform the Council that while Sophia of Gwynedd is indeed a Haldane, she is not the legitimate heir to the throne. She is Nigel Haldane's daughter, not his granddaughter, and not the daughter of Araxelle." She waited for the ensuing hubbub of astonishment to die down slightly before continuing. "Araxelle was, of course, complicit in the Royal cover-up - she'd have _had_ to be, wouldn't she, since she passed Sophia off as her own daughter. I would imagine that the late Queen Mother was also involved in the plot, especially since she had her own secret to hide - Araxelle wasn't even Nigel's daughter at all! I'm still working to track down Araxelle's paternity. However, there's at least one other person - besides Araxelle's late husband Duke Henri, that is - who had to have known the truth about Sophia's origins, and that would be her biological mother." She smiled archly. "And which of Nigel's many lights of love might that have been?" Directing her gaze to one Council member in particular, she continued, "Lady Violet, before you retired to private life shortly after Nigel's death, you were a lady-in-waiting to both Sybilla and, as the years went on, to her daughter Araxelle. As I recall from our last meeting, you even served as Araxelle's Mistress of the Robes at her Coronation. Since you were so deeply entrenched in the Royal Inner Circle of the time, perhaps _you_ would care to inform us of Sophia's true parentage?"

Lady Violet glared at her for a long moment before slowly turning her head to look at each member of the assembly, a fierce pride in her aged features. "Sophia Haldane is _my_ daughter - the child I never thought to have, born in the twilight of my fertile years when her father and I mistakenly believed the possibility of an unplanned conception was behind us. Nigel might have had other lovers before me, but _I_ was the only woman he ever truly loved. And while we may have hidden the truth of Sophia's parentage from the world in order to save the Haldane family honor, no usurpation of the Royal birthright was ever intended. Her illegitimate birth should never have become known, much less a problem to the succession. Had the tragic events of last week not occurred, I doubt anyone would ever have discovered our secret. After all, Princess Sophia was believed to be Araxelle's _third_ child. The dear girl was never meant to sit on the Throne of Gwynedd at all!"

Father Devlin listened to Violet's declaration with growing dismay. Most of what Lady Alicia and Lady Violet had revealed in the past few minutes had already been known to him, both as Sophia's current chaplain (however temporarily) and as one of the few who had been present at Eirian House when she had learned about her illegitimate birth - if not yet of the circumstances behind it - and had requested that he be present when she broke the news to her cousin the Duke of Corwyn, now assumed by his fellow Councillors to be the rightful King.

Except that he wasn't. Not anymore, at least, as of later that same evening.

Devlin wondered if Sophia would want to know who her biological mother was. If so, should he be the one to inform her? And how exactly would that topic of conversation even come up? _"_ _I just happened to be at a Camberian Council meeting tonight, Ma'am, where we all just happened to be dissecting your family's convoluted love life. Might it interest you to discover who your real mother is?"_ He could see that approach going over like the proverbial lead balloon.

However, it occurred to him there was one thing he could say here on her behalf after all.

"Before this discussion on Sophia Haldane's right to the throne goes any further," Devlin announced, "I have something I need to add. Yesterday afternoon, Mrs Eilonwy Sheehan Adams and Dr Jennifer DeLisle, the Queen's ladies-in-waiting, informed Her Majesty of DI Adams' and Lady Alicia's discovery. Her Majesty immediately called His Grace of Corwyn and myself to her private chambers. At that time, she ceded the throne to the rightful heir, Morgan Haldane." Lifting his hand to quiet the stir of voices that started up at this pronouncement, he quickly added, " _His_ Majesty, after spending the rest of that evening researching the legal ramifications and consulting with those present about his various options, wrote and signed of his own free will and desire last night before those same witnesses a document naming Sophia Morgana Anastasia Haldane, natural daughter to Nigel the Third, as his legal successor to the throne of Gwynedd and reaffirming the Act of Attainder against the Atherton-Haldane line. And then His Majesty abdicated in favor of his legal heir, which means that Her Majesty Sophia is now the _rightful_ Queen of Gwynedd, with the Duke of Corwyn once more her heir apparent until such time as she has children of her own." He smiled. "Not bad for a day's work."

"Well, isn't that nice?" Elspeth muttered. "That means our dear Violet's the Queen Mum now. Huzzah! Will there be kitschy souvenir plates?" She rolled her eyes.

"Oh, grow up, child!" Violet retorted, although somewhat less heatedly than her usual wont.

* * *

 _Late night  
Tre-Arilan  
December 20, 2021_

After the Camberian Council meeting, once most of the other members had left for the night, Father Devlin paused to speak with James on his way down to the Transfer Portal to return to Eirian House. "One thing puzzles me," he told his longtime friend. "If Her Majesty is actually the daughter of Nigel Haldane and Lady Violet instead of Araxelle and Henri Formacek of Joux, then she ought to be at least half Deryni in addition to carrying the Haldane potential, not simply a mostly-human Formacek, right?"

"Yes. I wondered about that as well," James replied. "Violet is full Deryni, as she is proud of reminding anyone who will listen, and a very strong one at that. Mind, I still think HM would be best served by having the full assumption of her Haldane powers to bring her up to speed quickly in her arcane gifts, since we may not have the luxury of being able to train up her powers in the usual way before the next terrorist attempt - and I suspect there _will_ be a next one, and soon, if she is perceived to be as weak a Queen as Araxelle. But if she's both Haldane and Deryni, then the situation is even better than I'd dared to hope."

"But if she _is_ Deryni," Dev countered, "wouldn't she have figured that out by now?"

James shrugged. "Not necessarily. You figured out your powers early, as I did, because we both grew up in Deryni families. By the time we were even old enough to know what a Deryni was, we'd been tested by our parents - if not our doctors as well - for the strength of expression of our Deryni traits and raised to the expectation that we'd have powers to use someday, once we were old enough to train. But HM wouldn't have had any reason to suspect much if any Deryni potential in herself, would she? Araxelle never showed signs of being a powerful Deryni despite being Sybilla's daughter, and with Araxelle marrying a human Duke, maybe the traits were even more watered down in Kelric and Stefanie, or perhaps they took after Henri Formacek instead. Any manifestations of talent HM might have sensed in herself up to now might easily have been put down to just having a keen sense of intuition, or perhaps being Haldane. And that's half right; Haldane she definitely is!"

"But you'd agree, she needs to be trained now?"

"Hell, yes; the sooner, the better!"

Devlin leaned against the wall. "You realize at some point, especially if either of us is going to suggest Deryni training for her, she is probably going to want to know who her mother is. What's more, if one of us tells her, she's going to want to know how _we_ happen to know who her mother is. She's already aware of the Council's existence, but I'm not sure she'd be so thrilled about discovering that the long-ranging consequences of her family's sexual escapades has been our primary topic of discussion tonight."

"You're right, probably not the best admission to make. What if Lady Alicia were to tell her who her mother is? At least if HM were to ask. Surely it's going to occur to her at some point to do so, after all, and at least Alicia has a good excuse for knowing, being the person who made the original discovery of Sophia's genetic coding not matching up to Araxelle's or the other younger family members'. HM would surely want to find out the other half of her birth history eventually; a doctor would know she's not just the product of old Nigel shagging himself!"

"On that note, I'm leaving now," Father Devlin said, stepping onto the Portal stone. "If HM _does_ happen to bring up the topic at some point, I trust you can find some more polite way of phrasing that? If not, at least tell me the Scripture you'd prefer to have quoted at your funeral."

"I'm sure you'll think of something suitable." James grinned. "Just promise you won't eulogize me; you know me far too well!"


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

 _Morning  
Eirian House  
The Queen's Private Suite  
December 21, 2021_

"I'm not used to Haldane crimson toenails," Queen Sophia observed as she watched her lady-in-waiting and former university friend Jennifer DeLisle apply a second coat of polish to the nails in question. Jen looked up with a grin as she finished the last nail and capped the bottle, using an orangewood stick dipped in nail polish remover to tidy up an errant spot beside one nail.

"You'd best watch out, Ma'am," Eilonwy joked. "If you aren't vigilant, Jen's likely to paint little rampant guardant lions on the biggest nails."

"Maybe we can skip that embellishment," Sophia advised, attempting to look serious but failing. "I'm pretty sure my Haldane forefathers spinning in their collective graves simultaneously might throw the world off its axis."

"Let's not have that, then," Jen replied with equal mock-solemnity. "Besides, I'm not sure my art skills are equal to the task. For that, we'd need Maureen."

The thought of Lady Maureen bent over the Queen's feet to paint miniature heraldry on the Royal toenails was sufficient to send all three young women into peals of laughter. "Oh, goodness!" Sophia said once she could speak coherently again, "How I've missed you two!" She finished off her breakfast scone, washing it down with a sip of coffee. "So, now that I've fortified my stomach and apparently my toenails for the occasion, could you hand me that appallingly thick pile of paper by your left elbow, Loni?"

Eilonwy glanced at the documents briefly as she rolled onto one side to lift the sheaf of paper and hand it to Sophia. "What's all this, then?" she asked as Sophia took the documents from her. She rolled back onto her stomach as she adjusted a pillow to a more comfortable position beneath her before reaching for her laptop again.

"Business I need to familiarize myself with before the Accession Council tomorrow," Sophia informed her as she picked up the top document in the stack and began to read. With a wry smile, she added, "No wonder Morgan was ready to bolt yesterday when he discovered he was King of Gwynedd; he probably realized that meant he'd have twice the paperwork to handle."

"The more things change, the more things stay the same?" Jen asked as she put up her small collection of manicure supplies.

What do you mean?" Sophia asked.

The Kelsonian scholar laughed. "Just that the 'Darkling Duke' wasn't overly fond of the administrative part of his responsibilities either, or at least not the account rolls. To be fair, to judge by what's left of the Corwyn rolls from his time, he was a quite competent administrator, it's just that there were other things he'd have rather been doing."

"Such as?" Eilonwy asked, returning to her internet search.

"Such as pretty much _anything_ else," Jen answered. "Alaric Morgan was a man of action. Being a desk jockey wasn't his preferred cup of tea. Or darja, for that matter, since they didn't have tea yet."

"Speaking of your Kelsonian-era heartthrob," Eilonwy teased, "have you decided yet if the present-day Duke of Corwyn is anywhere near as dishy as His Dishyness Alaric?"

"Excuse me?" Sophia looked up sharply from her paperwork, more laughter bubbling up as she saw the rising flush in Jen's cheeks.

"Hardly a fair comparison; it's hard to imagine anyone beating out Alaric Morgan wearing his black riding leathers and sporting a wrist stiletto," Jen joked, trying to retain some vestiges of composure.

"Hm. He does sound like a rather . . . _virile_ specimen of manhood, doesn't he?" the Queen mused, giving Eilonwy a sidelong amused look. "I suppose you're right, my poor cousin couldn't possibly hope to compare. Although _he's_ quite partial to black riding leathers too, when he's out and about on his motorcycle. What was that about 'The more things change, the more things stay the same'?"

"The Duke of Corwyn has a motorcycle?" Eilonwy asked in pretended innocence, catching the conversational ball and running with it. "Fascinating! I wonder if it's a two-seater?"

Jen rolled her eyes, her blush growing. "I'll bet he doesn't wear a stiletto, though."

"Quite right," Sophia assured her. "It's merely a throwing knife. But it _is_ in a wrist sheath; does that count?"

Lobbing a pillow at a reigning monarch didn't seem quite right, so Jen did the next best thing, aiming it at her fellow lady-in-waiting instead. Eilonwy fended it off neatly, hardly looking up from her screen as she held a hand up in a warding gesture and whispered a word. The pillow appeared to bounce off an invisible wall about an inch from Eilonwy's hand, landing on the floor. Jen bent to pick it up again, but the pillow scuttled a few inches to one side, just beyond her reach.

"Neat trick, that!" Sophia said, chuckling at Jen's expression. "I wish I were Deryni."

Jen forgot the pillow, turning to Sophia with an arrested look on her face. "Maybe you _are,_ Ma'am. Have you ever checked?"

"Well, no; the Formaceks are full human, and Mother's Deryni blood was . . . " Sophia stopped in sudden realization. "Wait - you mean . . . ." A whirlwind of emotions tore through her as the implications of her newly-discovered parentage dawned. She turned to Eilonwy. "Did Lady Alicia happen to mention who my mother was? Or . . . _is?_ Is she still around?"

Eilonwy, looking startled, thought back to the evening when Alicia and Patrick had discussed their discoveries. "I don't think she ever mentioned your maternal line. But surely she _must_ know, or at least she would know how to find out. There's some way to trace maternal lines as well as paternal ones, isn't there?"

"Yes," Sophia sat up, her documents forgotten for the moment. "Eilonwy, your husband knows how to contact Lady Alicia, yes?"

"He does, Ma'am; they've worked together a fair bit. And actually, she's the one who introduced us, although Patrick knows her better than I do. Shall I have him call her to Eirian House for you?"

"Yes, please. And you know, you two _could_ stop 'Majesty' and 'Ma'am'-ing me in private." Sophia pondered the question of her true parentage for a moment, then asked, "What are you researching at the moment, Loni?"

"Where your missing regalia might be stored. Assuming it's not stashed away somewhere in the Rhemuth Keep, that is. Patrick says he'll see if he can get in to take a look next time he's able to get back on the grounds, but since we can't count on him finding the items there, I'm checking out antique jewelry restorers in Valoret."

Sophia mimed picking up a phone. "Hello, this is the Queen. I'm missing a few baubles, and I'd very much like to have them back. Do you happen to have them there? Lovely! I'll send Lord Arilan right over." Her friends laughed. She gave a rueful smile. "If only it could be that easy!" Her smile fading, she added, "Lord Arilan's heard some rumor that after Mo - after Araxelle's coronation, the regalia were placed in a wooden box and given to Duke Henri for safekeeping. If that's true, then I imagine the box is still at Rhemuth, hopefully in an area of the Castle that is still intact. We rarely visited Valoret; it's more of a museum than a home these days, and Eirian House was more comfortably appointed when we wanted a family getaway. Or Coroth. I spent a fair few summer months visiting my Corwyn cousin's home." With a teasing grin at Jen, she added "The dishy one."

"Lucky you; Coroth's a lovely castle, full of amazing history. Too bad the 'dishy duke' has been dead for centuries," Jen shot back, "though I suppose the current Morgan heir is all right, if a bit full of himself."

"So you're immune?" Sophia asked, her grin only growing wider.

"Quite," Jen affirmed.

"Good!" The Queen chuckled. "Morgan is altogether too accustomed to women fawning all over 'The Most Eligible Bachelor in Gwynedd.' It will be a refreshing change for him to spend some time around a woman who's not so easily impressed."

Sophia returned to her reading, the other two women reverting to a comfortable silence to allow her some peace and quiet so she could devote her full attention to the task. Eilonwy continued her web search and Jen, lacking any particular task at that moment, took a few minutes to select the Queen's wardrobe for that day. After all, Her Majesty could hardly venture out of her suite wearing a bathrobe and toenail polish! That done, she did a few stretches to limber up before settling cross-legged onto the lush carpet to meditate.

Sophia finished one of the documents and was just starting to read another when she noticed something unusual out of the corner of her eye. Looking up, she stared at Jen. "Loni? Is it just me, or is Jen actually . . . glowing just a little bit?"

Eilonwy looked up from her research, glancing in Jen's direction, and began to laugh. "Hey, Jen, your aura is flaring. Might want to look to that; I don't think HM is used to ladies-in-waiting with haloes."

"Yes, so much for the theory that only angels and saints have haloes," Sophia joked, putting down her document and regarding Jen with keen interest as Jen opened her eyes, startled, and the faint bluish glow surrounding her died away. "Were you doing that consciously, or does it just happen?"

"I wasn't meaning to flare," Jen said self-consciously, "though admittedly my control isn't the best yet. But I can do it consciously as well. It's pretty much the same as handfire, just less localized." She cupped a hand in front of her, calling up a sphere of pale blue fire.

Sophia leaned forward to get a better view. "So how does that work, in practice? What are you thinking or doing in order to make that appear?"

"Well . . . ." Jen gave the matter a moment's thought. "At this point it's become second nature, but let's see." She doused the handfire and then relit it, this time consciously focusing on how she did it. "It's like the latent energy is deep within me, and when I visualize the handfire appearing in my hand, part of that energy moves upward in response to the visualization I'm focused upon, until it manifests as a visible ball of light. But come to think of it, before I could call up the handfire in a visible form, Sir Will had me learning to feel it as a ball of pure energy first. He says even full humans can often learn to do that much."

She stood up, moving over to sit upon the low footstool that Sophia had rested her feet on earlier while having her toenails painted. "Here, try this. Watch me first, then see how it works for you." Jen closed her eyes and held her hands in front of her, slightly cupped and with palms facing each other just a few inches apart. "Hold your hands like this, as if you have a lump of clay about the size of a tennis ball between them, and close your eyes." She demonstrated the technique as she continued the explanation. "Now pretend you are shaping that clay, trying to turn it into a perfect sphere. You may not be able to feel anything at first, but focus all your concentration on that invisible ball of energy."

One slightly cupped palm began rotating above the other. "After you do this for a short while," Jen continued, "you may start to feel your fingertips tingle just a little, or perhaps you'll feel a faint warmth in the centers of your palms. If you feel that, then continue what you are doing and focus on those feelings. Eventually, you may find that the energy ball has grown strong enough for you to begin feeling its shape." She reversed the direction of her circular motion. "You might find it helps to occasionally change the direction of the rotation, but try to keep your hands just far enough apart to avoid brushing each other as you do. If you start to feel the ball forming between your palms, just keep focusing on that faint pressure the energies are exerting on your skin. It may never feel all that solid, but hopefully you'll eventually feel that _something_ is there. Then to turn that invisible ball of energy into handfire, you just visualize it starting to glow from within."

The space between Jen's cupped palms began to glow, at first almost imperceptibly, then with an increasingly stronger blue fire. She opened her eyes again. " _That's_ the part you might never be able to master if you're not Deryni, but I wasn't able to do it either the first few times I tried, so not being able to create handfire on your first go at it isn't meant to be taken as an indicator that you're not Deryni. Sir Will told me some people find it helpful, when they first start feeling the ball form, to imagine compressing it slightly until it's more plum or walnut sized in order to help the energies coalesce, but I find myself accidentally brushing my hands together too much when I do that, so just do whatever seems to work best for you. Eventually you should be able to stop moving your hands, open your eyes, and still feel the ball - or at least its faint warmth - even if you can't see it. Now _you_ try."

Eilonwy looked up and watched with interest as Sophia attempted the same exercise that Jen had just demonstrated. For about a minute, the young Haldane queen appeared to focus in rapt concentration on her slowly circling hands, the movements slightly uncertain as if she was trying to determine if she could actually feel anything between her palms or not. Afterwards, she opened her eyes, looking at Jen with a defeated sigh. "I'm not sure I'm doing this right."

"Wait!" Eilonwy said, rolling off the bed and walking over to the window to close the blinds. She turned to look at Sophia again, then frowned. "Well, drat. For just a moment there, I thought I saw just the faintest bit of a pink glow. Did you see it, Jen?"

"I didn't notice, but then again the morning light was pretty strong over here. Sophia, would you care to try it again?"

Heartened by Eilonwy's belief that she'd seen something, if only for a brief moment, and even though Sophia herself wasn't even sure if she'd felt the sensations Jen had described to her, she tried again. For just a brief instant just at the end, she had felt that her efforts might be producing _something,_ but it had been so ephemeral a feeling that she'd thought maybe she'd simply imagined it. "I thought I might have felt just a tiny bit of warmth earlier," she confessed, "but then I second-guessed myself and figured I'd probably just wished it to happen."

"Well, wishing something into happening _is_ along the lines of what you're trying to do, after all, so perhaps you did," Eilonwy said.

Sophia focused every ounce of concentration that she possessed on feeling the energy build up between her hands once more. Dimly, as if from a distance or perhaps some auditory fog, she heard one of her ladies say "You've got it!" in an encouraging tone. Her eyes flew open and the almost-felt sensation vanished, although this time she caught the briefest glimpse of what might have been the palest of rose-colored flickers - or was it a very dilute red? - before the mirage-like vision disappeared from view.

The Queen practically fell backwards against the seat cushion. "Is it always so hard? I feel exhausted!"

Eilonwy frowned. "No, it might be difficult to get the hang of it at first, but it oughtn't be all _that_ tiring, at least not after just two attempts at it. If you don't mind, Sophia, can I take a quick peek in your head and see if I can figure out why it's taking so much effort for you?"

Jen exchanged places with Eilonwy, walking over to a small snack bar area, where she reached into a mini-fridge underneath the counter and retrieved a bottle of orange juice. Grabbing a napkin to hold the last scone off the tray that had been brought up to the suite earlier, she quickly buttered it and brought both back to Sophia. "Here, see if this will help replenish your energy."

Sophia accepted the scone and took a listless nibble as Eilonwy reached out to lay a gentle hand upon her head. "This should only take a few moments. Just relax and let me see if I can figure out what the problem is."

Eilonwy started off with a tentative probe, immediately brushing up against shields, although these were weak and largely unformed. The presence of shields wasn't at all surprising - Sophia was a Haldane, after all, and therefore Eilonwy had expected to encounter some rudimentary shielding. So far, so good; the presence of faint shields was encouraging. Of course, because the Queen was a true Haldane, Eilonwy didn't dare read anything more than that into their presence. Even regular humans could develop rudimentary shields if they grew up in the presence of Deryni actively using their powers, although given Araxelle's nearly legendary avoidance of her own, Eilonwy hoped Sophia's shields might also indicate that she possessed the Deryni trait.

Slipping beneath the weak shields with relative ease, Eilonwy paused to check if she was causing Sophia any discomfort, but although the Queen seemed to tense just a tiny bit, she took a deep breath and relaxed again. "Am I hurting you?" Eilonwy asked, although she couldn't detect any pain signals from within Sophia's mind.

"No, I just feel . . . Not sure how to describe it. A slight bit of pressure, maybe? Or perhaps the dull beginnings of a headache, but just the barest hint of one. More of a suggestion of discomfort than the actual thing, really."

"All right, that's understandable, since I've just slipped beneath your shields," Eilonwy assured her. "I'll try to be quick."

"I have shields?" Sophia asked, surprised.

"Yes, weak tissue-thin ones, but that's fairly decent considering most people have none at all." Eilonwy insinuated her mental probe just a bit deeper. "Ah. I think I see what the problem is; looks like someone put controls on your powers when you were a very young child - that's normal - but then they forgot to take them off when you got older. Let's see here . . . . "

She gave the psychic control a mental nudge, almost like flicking off a switch, and started to withdraw her mental touch from Sophia's mind when she spotted another area of the Queen's psyche that felt wrong somehow. Taking a closer look at that area, she frowned in thought and withdrew completely. "First of all . . . ." She wiped her fingertips across Sophia's forehead in a fatigue-banishing spell. "Let's see if you can summon up the handfire energies again without it being exhausting."

Sophia's eyes widened. "I suddenly feel great! What did you just do?"

"That last bit? That was a spell to banish fatigue. It's great for short-term applications, although eventually the lack of proper rest will catch up with you, so it's best just to catch up on sleep the old-fashioned way. In emergencies, or when you really need to have your full energy back for something fairly brief before you catch up on your rest, it can be a good trick to know." Eilonwy smiled briefly. "I used to use it when swotting for exams."

The Queen closed her eyes again, putting into practice the lesson Jen had taught her earlier. This time when she opened her eyes, a lingering glow of Haldane crimson hovered between her palms for a few seconds before slowly dissipating.

"Very good!" Jen exclaimed. Looking up at Eilonwy, she asked, "So what was the problem earlier?"

"Her childhood block was never removed," Eilonwy answered, although she continued to frown in worried contemplation.

Jen, noticing her concerned look, asked " _And?"_

Eilonwy looked up, meeting the Queen's curious gaze. "Sophia, can you think of any reason why someone might have wanted to place a block on some of your childhood memories?"

Sophia looked baffled. "A memory block? No. What might a usual reason be for doing that sort of thing?"

Eilonwy's worried frown deepened. "It may be nothing; maybe you were just having some childhood nightmares or something, and your mother - I mean Araxelle - was attempting to help. But all the same, it seems to be a fairly extensive block of one particular memory center. You might want to have a Healer take a look at it; tampering with that sort of thing is a little beyond my area of expertise, not to mention my comfort zone. Leaving it alone shouldn't be a problem, I don't think, but improperly removing the block may destroy whatever memories lie underneath the block."

"Would that be so bad?" Sophia asked. "I mean, presumably those memories were blocked for a reason."

"Well, yes," Eilonwy replied, "but by whom, and for what reason? And why block the memories completely? Even if it was something disturbing, such as those nightmares I mentioned or some childhood trauma, most Deryni would simply blur the traumatic feelings, not block the memories altogether. "

"I had a concussion as a young child, after a car accident," Sophia informed her. "My fa - Duke Henri died in that same wreck, and I was unconscious for a short time following the accident. Could the concussion have caused the blockage?"

"No, this was set deliberately, although possibly the memory of His Grace dying is what was blocked, especially if you were still conscious when that happened. It's customary just to blur even a memory that traumatic, though; conventional wisdom among Healers is that emotional and psychic healing happens more swiftly and thoroughly if the mind is allowed to process the grief and trauma as much as possible on its own, so the memory blurring just provides psychic pain relief while the mind is still going through that healing process. Blocking the memories completely could prevent that deeper level of healing from taking place, so that's why Healers almost never do it anymore."

Sophia considered her friend's observations. "Yes, on second thought, I think I'd rather have a trained Healer take a look at that block, just to be safe. Jen, could you see if you can find out how we might get in touch with Healer Heather O'Flynn? It's Monday, so she may be back on duty at the Royal Hospital in Rhemuth. I believe she has also been doing home visits at Coroth Castle for a patient housed there, so Morgan might know, if you can track him down."

* * *

 _Morning  
Eirian House Grounds  
December 21, 2021_

Jennifer DeLisle followed the Lord Chamberlain's directions to the area of the Palace grounds with the weapons practice area. A Palace guard, upon hearing that she was looking for the Duke of Corwyn, handed her some ear and eye protection and directed her towards the shooting range where Morgan Haldane was engaged in firearms practice alongside some of the Eirian House armsmen.

As she drew closer to them, she noticed one interesting difference between this firearms practice and any others that she had seen previously. Four of the men at the range were firing blindfolded. Even from behind, Jen recognized one of these four as the Duke.

She waited for the shooting to end before approaching, although he sensed her presence before even taking off the blindfold. "Dr DeLisle," he greeted her as he eased the fabric off his eyes, handing his weapon over to an aide. Inclining his head towards the distant target, he asked, "Do you shoot?"

"Yes, Your Grace, but not blindfolded."

"Once they change out the targets, would you care to try?"

"I think not, sir. The Kingdom has already seen enough terror this week."

He chuckled. "Let's go check the target, unless Her Majesty needs me to return at once. I presume you're on an errand for HM?" Not quite waiting for her answer, he began walking towards the distant target with the unselfconscious air of a man accustomed to being followed.

She scurried to catch up with his long stride. "I am, and she doesn't. Actually I'm just needing to contact a Healer for Her Majesty. Healer O'Flynn. She thought perhaps you might have her contact information."

"I don't have a phone number for her, if that's what you mean. But I might be able to help you track her down." They reached Morgan's target, and Jen was impressed despite herself to see the tight grouping of holes within the small circle at its heart.

She gave a quiet whistle. "How's your shooting when you're _not_ blindfolded, Your Grace?"

He smiled. "Better." Signalling to another range aide, he indicated that he was done shooting for the day. As the man replaced the target, Morgan turned towards Jen, waving her toward the direction from which they'd just come. "Lead on, Dr DeLisle."

"Lead on _where,_ sir? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your practice!"

"No need to apologize; we were just winding up anyway." Lowering his voice slightly so only she would be able to hear him, he added, "Some of the guard prefer to practice after I've left the field."

"Well, you can hardly blame them, can you, after seeing a grouping like _that?_ I think I'd be intimidated too!"

He laughed. "No need to be, unless you're the target. Just make sure you're never my target." They reached their starting point, and he handed over his safety equipment, waiting on her to hand hers over also before starting for the nearest door into the Palace. "Does HM need Healer O'Flynn for anything in particular, or is she just hoping to arrange a secondment for her here? She could use a Healer in Residence here at Eirian House."

Jen considered the idea. "I'm not sure if she's thought of that, frankly, although I'll be sure to suggest it to her. But no. We were speculating this morning as to whether Her Majesty might have Deryni powers, and as it turned out she was able to conjure up a little handfire once Eilonwy removed her childhood controls, but while she was in there, she noticed that someone in the past has created some sort of memory block in Her Majesty's mind."

Morgan stopped dead still. "You mean someone _blurred_ a memory for her, don't you?"

"No. Eilonwy was quite clear about the difference. That's why she suggested we call a specialist to take a look." Jen hesitated. " _You_ don't happen to know how to unblock a memory safely, do you?"

"No, unfortunately I don't. But if I were going to pick a Healer for the purpose, O'Flynn would probably be my own choice, at least judging by what Healer Dr Al-Sayid has told me of her work." Morgan mused on what Jen had just told him. "So, Her Majesty is Deryni?"

"Yes. And I'm not the best judge of such things, being only partially trained myself, but I suspect she's a strong one, or at least a very quick study. It took me a full day to work up to handfire as clear as what she managed once her childhood control was removed. And Eilonwy swears she saw a flicker of faint color even before we knew the control was still in place."

Morgan raised a sandy brown eyebrow. " _With_ the control in place? Sweet Saint Camber!" They reached the Palace door, and he held it open for her. "In the first door to the right, and then down that corridor."

"Where are we headed, Your Grace?"

"Portal room."

* * *

 _Morning  
Marbury General Hospital  
December 21, 2021_

"How is Colin feeling this morning?" Peter Astari asked the boy's mother.

Erin O'Malley lifted tired eyes to his as he settled onto the chair beside hers. "As well as can be expected." She blinked rapidly as if to dispel tears, although the events of the past several days had left her completely dry, wrung out like an old washrag. "He's severely traumatized, of course, and the doctors have him on medication now to keep him sedated. And he's still on fluids to deal with the dehydration, but he was able to eat a little bit this morning. What kind of monster would do that to a child, Mr Astari? Bury him _alive?"_ Her voice rose almost to a shriek on the last word, and Peter wondered for a moment if he was about to be called upon to ease a mother's hysteria - not that he'd blame her for a loss of control over her emotions, under the circumstances - but then she took a deep breath, visibly regathering her tattered composure.

"That's what we're hoping to find out this morning," Peter told her, "if you will allow us."

"Will you promise me you'll blur his memories after that? I wanted them blurred immediately, but the investigators wouldn't allow it. They said matters of national security were at stake." Her chin quivered briefly, but she took another deep breath. "I don't give a damn about national security, I just want my child treated like a person."

"Yes, I can certainly understand that, Mrs O'Malley. I promise you, as soon as I've Read what is in his mind, I will blur his memories of his ordeal. No child should have the burden of carrying that amount of trauma within him forever."

"No child should have endure it at _all!_ "

"True." He paused, considering the best way to broach his next question. "Have you considered having Colin transferred to the Royal Hospital in Rhemuth? They have the top trauma specialists in the Kingdom there."

Erin O'Malley's lips tightened. "Yes, I'm certain they do, and under normal circumstances I'd accept the offer of a transfer in a heartbeat. But if you've somehow missed this week's top story, my damn ex-husband apparently just blew up their bloody castle and most of the Royal Family; I doubt Rhemuth is the safest place for Colin just now. Even here in Marbury, I've received a few death threats."

"I'm sorry to hear that. People all over the Kingdom are certainly angry right now, and rightfully so, but I hate to hear that some people's anger is so badly misplaced. There's no reason to assume _you_ had any part in that attack, and little Colin certainly wouldn't have, aside from being a pawn in someone else's diabolical game. It's up to you, Mrs O'Malley, but if you do decide to move Colin to the RHR, I would be glad to offer you safe shelter for the duration of your stay there."

"Why?"

Peter debated how to answer her. After a long moment, he carefully replied, "Because I remember being a helpless little boy once, caught up in someone else's power games, so in that way at least, I can relate to your son. But aside from that, if the police have not informed you yet, someone else out there was recently looking for your son - and someone else besides him was willing to kill that person in order to keep him from falling into the hands of the authorities. Someone with Deryni powers, or at least a uniquely Deryni means of attack. For that reason, I believe that Colin is still not safe, not even here under close guard, because of what he knows. I don't know how well I can protect him in Marbury, but in Rhemuth . . . well, they'd have a much harder time on my turf, and they'd have to deal with _me_ to get to him." He flashed a dangerous smile.

"And how do I know I can trust _you,_ Mr Astari?" Mrs O'Malley challenged him.

The smile faded. "That, I can't answer. As I said, you'll need to decide for yourself. But you'll need to trust _someone."_ He stood. "May I go in now? The investigators are waiting for Colin's information."

She sighed a weary sigh, nodding her assent and closing her eyes against the world.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

 _Morning  
The Royal Hospital, Rhemuth  
December 21, 2021_

Jen DeLisle regretted having had little more than a few rushed moments to enjoy the briefest of visits to historic Coroth Castle, since the Duke of Corwyn had brought her through the Transfer Portal there just long enough to ask one of his staff if Healer Heather O'Flynn had stopped by the Castle that morning or if she'd returned to the Royal Hospital in Rhemuth already. She'd barely had time to give her surroundings more than a wistful glance when they were off again, although after a quick glance at Jen's face the Duke had laughed, promising her a more leisurely visit on some future occasion. She was resolved to hold him to that promise; it had been sheer torture to stand in the very heart of Duke Alaric's and Duchess Richenda's ancient Keep, in the part of the old castle that was strictly off-limits to tourists, and yet not have the chance to explore it to her heart's content!

"Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's house," Duke Morgan had teased as they'd stepped back onto the Portal stone. Jen had been trying to think of some suitable quip in response when he'd pulled her through the Portal to the location where they stood now. She clutched at his arm, her stomach lurching back into place, her mind forgetting whatever it was she'd been about to say.

"Are you all right, Dr DeLisle?" he asked, the amusement wiped off his face as he regarded her with concern.

She regained her equilibrium, snatching her hand back quickly lest he mistake her intentions and think she was attempting to play up to him. "I'm fine, Your Grace. Sorry. I just find Portal leaps very disconcerting!"

"Yes, they can be quite gut-wrenching, can't they?" The pale green eyes regarded her with a sympathetic twinkle. "Fortunately we've landed at the RHR, so if you think you're about to be sick, please warn me first so I can call for a nurse whilst I dodge."

 _Welcome to the Royal Hospital Rhemuth's patient Portal. Please clear the Portal square to allow other patients access,_ an automated voice requested in dulcet tones. The two complied, stepping out of the public access Portal niche into a room only slightly larger. Two guards stood sentry at a door leading into the hospital's main atrium.

"Please queue up for the retinal scan," one said in a bored voice before belatedly recognizing the Duke. "Oh, sorry, Your Grace! You can pass through."

"Scan me first."

"Oh, it's truly not necessary, I recognize you . . . ."

Morgan raised a censuring eyebrow at the man. "Because you can detect a shapeshifter without technological help?"

The guard subsided, wearing a chagrined expression at the implied reprimand. Morgan stepped onto a set of painted footprints on the floor, facing the security scanner. Flustered, the man pressed a button to initiate the scan. A moment later, another automated voice said _Haldane, Morgan Alexander. Deryni, Registered. Gwyneddan subject. Entry permitted._ Morgan's lips tightened almost imperceptibly as he stepped off the painted footsteps and to the security gate, where the second guard gave him a quick crystal rod scan. "Your Grace, if you could please place any metal items in the basket . . . ."

Jen, wondering how the security system would identify a foreigner, stepped onto the footprints. The retinal scan ID'ed her. _DeLisle, Jennifer Anne. Deryni, Officially Verified by Nation of Origin. Americian citizen. Temporary visa approved 011221, expires 011222. Healthcare eligibility approved. Entry permitted._ A little wide-eyed, Jen stepped off the retinal scan area and followed Morgan through the security gate, submitting to the weapons search in silence. On the other side of the gate, Morgan set his thumb print on a small reader that would allow him to reclaim his weapons on the way out. Jen was quietly amused to see the small but lethal collection the guard deposited in a nearby locker. "Good heavens, is Corwyn _that_ dangerous to live in, Your Grace?" she joked.

"No," he replied, "but Rhemuth evidently is these days." The smile on his lips didn't quite reach his eyes, and Jen belatedly remembered that when he'd last been on the hospital premises, it had been as a patient after the Rhemuth Castle attack. Suddenly what seemed like excessive security precautions for a public institution made a lot more sense. In the slowly returning sense of normalcy of the past couple of days, despite having spent most of the previous day and night in the palace of a young Queen whose entire life was currently in a state of upheaval, she had somehow nearly managed to forget that the Kingdom of Gwynedd was still under a state of national emergency.

"I'm sorry, that was thoughtless of me," she said quietly as she followed Morgan to a nearby lift.

A more genuine smile lit his face briefly. "No worries, I'm sure you're not used to being escorted around by a man who carries a set of throwing knives, a pistol, and a boot knife on his person."

"Ever consider a sword, sir?"

"I have several, but they make hailing a taxi a bit of a problem."

Jen laughed. "Do dukes hail taxis?"

"Rarely, but it's been known to happen." The lift doors opened, and she followed Morgan through them. He punched the top button and it rose, the doors reopening in front of a nurses' station with a sign above it reading "Psychiatric Medicine."

Morgan stepped up to the desk. "Is Healer Heather O'Flynn available?"

A senior nurse with a starched uniform and a starchier personality looked up at him over the tops of her reading glasses. "I'm sorry," she answered, sounding anything but. "Visiting hours do not start until noon."

"We're not here to see a patient. We need to see the Healer, please."

"Access to the Healer during business hours is by appointment only. Do you have an appointment?" Her expression looked dubious.

"We do not, but we are here on official business to convey a priority request for Healer O'Flynn's services."

"And _you_ are . . . ?"

Morgan reached into his back pocket, pulling his wallet out and wordlessly flipping it open to show his photo ID. She peered at it for a moment, then looked back up at his face with wide, startled eyes.

"Her Majesty Sophia the Second requests and requires Healer O'Flynn's services. _If_ it's not too inconvenient." The Duke's voice dripped with steely politeness.

"Oh! Oh yes, sir! Your Grace!" Turning scarlet, she turned to a younger nurse who had just returned to the station. "Where is O'Flynn?"

"Room 752, ma'am." Giving the visitors a curious glance, she did a double-take of recognition as she caught Morgan's eye. "Ah . . . Shall I go find her, Your Grace?"

"Please," he replied with more courtesy and less steel, charming her with a smile. She blushed, bobbing respectfully before walking swiftly back up the corridor in the direction she'd just come from. Morgan leaned casually against the counter, pointedly ignoring the senior nurse while he waited.

* * *

 _Later Morning  
Eirian House  
December 21, 2021_

"And when did you first become aware of the block, Your Majesty?" Healer O'Flynn jotted down a note on the small pad she kept in her lab coat pocket.

"Earlier this morning," Sophia informed her. She glanced over at Eilonwy. "Eilonwy Adams was removing - what did you call it, Loni? A 'child control'? - and she spotted it."

Turning to Eilonwy, Heather asked, "And did you try to touch the block at all?"

"No," Eilonwy answered. "I figured it would be best to leave that to a trained Healer."

The Healer nodded her approval. "All right, Ma'am, let's have a look." Heather put the notepad back in her pocket and moved to stand behind the Queen, cradling her head gently in both hands and closing her eyes to enter light trance. Establishing rapport, she deftly insinuated a questing probe beneath the paper-thin shields, her psychic touch gentler and more practiced than Eilonwy's had been. Sophia still felt a slight sensation of pressure, but it was barely perceptible. Her shields instinctively began to tighten in response, but Heather quietly said "Shhhh . . . ," adding a nonverbal suggestion to relax. Sophia felt herself growing slightly drowsy as her body obeyed the impulse and ceased resisting the psychic probe.

Heather worked in silence, deepening the rapport and sorting through the various avenues of memory, professionally sorting through yet not directly viewing those thoughts that Her Majesty would wish to keep private. It was a tricky balance, this level of Mind-Reading, but Heather's profession called for her to walk this tightrope often.

At last she reached the blocked section of memory. She gave it the lightest of psychic brushes. "What do you feel when I do this, Ma'am?" She didn't really have to ask the question - as her own mind encountered the blocked area she could feel Sophia tense up, a tiny frisson of suppressed anxiety welling up in her. Heather withdrew her touch just a fraction, and Sophia's anxiety eased.

"I felt . . . I think that was panic, just for a moment. But I'm fine now."

Heather paused in her work. "Ma'am, whatever is blocked is probably an extremely sensitive and quite likely painful memory. If you'd prefer, I can wait until we have more privacy before I unblock it."

Sophia looked around the room at those present - her cousin Morgan, Eilonwy, Jen, her armsman Henry Carlisle, all waiting respectfully for her command. All were people she trusted completely. She felt a moment of trepidation, but it was not due to their presence. Her anxieties had more to do with whatever the Healer she had summoned was about to find locked away within her mind.

"No, I'm fine. I . . . I think I would prefer to have the support of others close by. Unless _they_ would be more comfortable elsewhere?"

Eilonwy and Jen immediately sat, silently indicating by the action that they were willing to remain as long as Sophia wanted them there. Morgan moved closer to his royal cousin, offering his hand for her to hold. Henry remained dutifully at his post, but an empathetic smile lightened his features briefly as he watched his young Queen.

"Well, I think that answers _that_ question," O'Flynn said. Re-entering trance, she delved back into Sophia's mind, gingerly probing at the block to see how it was set up before, with a deft mental tweak, eliminating it completely.

There was a momentary hush, then a shrill keening sound before the Queen burst into loud sobs. "Mummyyyyyy!" Morgan knelt, gathering her in his arms, muffling her cries into incoherence with his shoulder.

* * *

It was several minutes before Sophia was in any shape to relate to anyone else what memories had been restored to her. Healer O'Flynn, after the first few anguished cries, used a calming spell to ease the grieving Queen's pain. "Your Majesty," she said quietly, "if you'll permit now, I'd like to put you in a hypnotic trance for a few minutes. You need to process the unblocked memories properly, the way you would have if you'd been allowed to deal with them fully at the time, and then I can blur them permanently if you choose."

Sophia nodded her assent. Heather continued on. "I will be asking you to talk about what you've remembered. Do you still wish to have others present when that happens?"

The Queen, after another long moment, nodded again. "Morgan needs to be here, I think. And _I_ need . . . Oh God, yes. They can all stay. Just . . . I think none of this had better leave this room."

"All right, then." Heather held her finger in front of her own nose, holding the Queen's gaze. "Look at me, watch my finger. Try to let your mind simply drift." She began moving her finger slowly towards the Queen. "Just drift backwards from this moment, let your thoughts drift away like leaves in a stream . . . 3 . . . 2 . . .1 . . . ." She briefly touched a fingertip to Sophia's forehead between her eyebrows, and the Queen's eyes drifted shut.

"Sophia," Heather said, deliberately avoiding the formality of titles, "We are going back to the moment that has come uppermost in your mind now. How old are you?"

"I'm six." Sophia's hands fluttered briefly, as if she was trying to hold up six fingers but the effort was too much for her in her trance state.

"Six years old!" said Heather. "And where are you? Can you tell me?"

A tiny sniff. "I'm in Grandmama's bedroom"

"I see. Can you tell me what is happening in Grandmama's bedroom?"

Another sniff. "She tried to kill Mummy."

Heather paused to absorb the shock of that information. "Can you tell me more about that?"

"Mummy was angry and Grandmama was angry back."

"I see. Do you know what they were angry about?"

Tears began to well up beneath Sophia's closed eyes, wetting her lashes and spilling down her cheeks. Sophia's armsman, wanting to respect the Queen's privacy in the face of such painfully intimate recollections, discreetly slipped out of the room. Morgan reached into his pocket for a handkerchief, moving to wipe her tears away, but Heather held out a restraining hand.

"Grandmama killed Daddy and tried to kill me too. She doesn't love me, just Kelric and Stefanie."

Heather pressed her fingertips against her lips, thinking hard. Once she was able to speak levelly, she asked, "Why do you think that, sweetie?"

"Because she says I'm not Daddy's little girl, I'm Grandpoppy's. She says she did it for Mummy, but Mummy got mad and said she did it for herself. That they all hid Grandmama's lie for too long, not just Grandpoppy's, and Mummy said she wouldn't stand for it no more."

"Do you know what she meant by that?"

Sophia gave a little shrug, shaking her head.

Heather studied her a long moment. "How did Grandmama try to kill you? Can you tell me more about that?"

Sophia hunched in her chair, tears flowing down her face. Morgan, struggling not to touch her, quietly stood and walked over to the window with his fists crammed into his pockets, unable to watch his baby cousin in such pain.

"We were going to see Lady Violet. Daddy said we were going to visit her for a nice, long visit. I told Grandmama goodbye, and she asked me where we were going. I told her and she got mad at Daddy. But then she got happy again and gived me a pretty, shiny rock to give to Lady Violet, and we left. But then we falled asleep and Daddy died, and Mummy said it was Grandmama's fault."

Heather tried to make sense of this explanation. "Can you show me the pretty rock?" she asked, placing her hand in Sophia's and braving her roiling emotions to try to see the events that had transpired from the young Princess's point of view.

The vividness of the memory nearly knocked Heather physically backwards. She could feel the smoothness of the jerramán crystal in her palm, see its brilliant shine as it glowed from within. It was so pretty, and she wanted to keep it, but she was a good girl and knew better than to steal, so she would see it safely to Lady Violet. Lady Violet was nice; she liked Sophia and would sometimes let her sit in her lap. She smelled good. Grandpoppy had liked Lady Violet too, before he died, and she missed Grandpoppy. Losing him had made them both sad, and Lady Violet had gone away not long after that. Sophia wanted to make her happy. She wanted that even more than she wanted to keep the pretty rock.

She put it in her pocket and they left, she and Daddy. Daddy felt strange, like he was afraid of something, but maybe he was just angry - yes, that had to be it, for he and Grandmama had just had an awful row. Daddy put their luggage in the boot and the pretty wooden box in the front between them, and they drove away. It was a long drive, but a fun one. Daddy was in a better mood once they left Rhemuth. He sang her funny songs from Joux and called her his precious angel, and reminded her to be very good when they got to Lady Violet's house. But then the road got too twisty, and Daddy had to stop singing because he needed to mind the road, so Sophia took the rock out of her pocket and watched it glow in her hand and let it sing to her. The pretty rock sang to her, and she felt sleepy, and next thing she knew she woke up in hospital and Daddy was dead.

The more clinically detached portion of Heather's mind examined the psychic resonances of the crystal, detecting the sleep spell imprinted on it. She withdrew from that portion of memory, resisting the temptation to simply sift Sophia's mind for the rest of the story, knowing the importance of Sophia processing the memories and integrating them properly with the rest of her storehouse of knowledge.

"Sophia, how did your Mummy find out that your Grandmama gave you the pretty rock?"

"I told her."

"Can you remember when you told her?"

Sophia shrugged again. "I don't know. After I got home from hospital. I wanted to know if Lady Violet ever got her rock, because Grandmama wanted her to have it."

"I see. And then what happened?"

"Mummy asked me what rock, and I showed her a picture in her head, and she started crying and went off to find Grandmama. And I was scared and I didn't want her to be mad at Grandmama, so I followed. They were yelling at each other, and Mummy said she knew Grandmama meant to kill me too, and she wouldn't stand for it because she loved me and none of it was my fault. And Grandmama said not to be stupid, that Nigel's bastard brat would be a threat to Mummy's own children if anyone ever found out the truth about me. So then Mummy said I _was_ her child, just like the others, because she loved me, and if Grandmama couldn't be trusted then maybe it was time to let the world know about me after all, and that she was tired of hiding Grandmama's secret."

Heather considered this information, trying to see how it fit in with the rest that Sophia had shared. "And is that when your Grandmama tried to kill your Mummy?"

Sophia's lips trembled. "Yes. She said Gwynedd didn't need a weak Queen, and she wasn't going to let Mummy ruin everything. And then they fighted and Grandmama was killing her."

Heather's voice softened in sympathy for the distressed child. "But your Mummy fought back, didn't she? Did she have to kill Grandmama?"

"No," Sophia said quietly. "I did that."

* * *

 _Afternoon  
Eirian House  
December 21, 2021_

Healer O'Flynn had blurred Sophia's memories after that, sending her to bed and leaving her in a deep, dreamless sleep afterwards to recover from the sudden onslaught of recollections. Her companions left her to her sleep, keeping her bedroom door cracked open so they could hear her should she need anything, and retreated to the seating area of her living quarters.

Jen poked her head out the door briefly to inform the two armsmen that Her Majesty was now peacefully resting, since she could sense their agitation over the Queen's distress from clear across the suite. Henry's eyes were suspiciously red-rimmed, and Michael's boyish features were unusually somber, but both nodded their acknowledgment of her message, and their tension seemed to ease slightly.

Morgan still stood at the window, fists still clenched, although now they lay upon the windowsill. In a low voice, he growled, "I want to kill her. I want to kill the frigging bitch that did this to her, except that she's already dead!" He slammed both fists against the sill, making the glass rattle. "Damn it!" He whirled, crossing over to the chair that Sophia had vacated, and half fell onto it, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his fingers clutching both sides of his head.

"Is Father Devlin still here at Eirian House?" Heather asked.

"Yes," Eilonwy said. "I could call him here. He probably needs to know what has happened, although Her Majesty _did_ say . . . ." Her voice trailed off uncertainly.

"I'm sure she'll confide in him soon enough," Jen said quietly. With a glance at Morgan, she added, "Can I get you anything, Your Grace?" She made a tentative gesture toward the wet bar, although he didn't lift his head, so she was unsure whether he saw her or not.

He lifted his head after a moment. "Yes. How about that harpy Sybilla's head and an ice pick?" He stood and made his way over to the bar, surveying its contents. "Wine, wine, and wow, would you look at that? Wine." Slamming it shut, he turned and leaned back against the counter instead, eyes closed.

"I think there's some Vezairi port stashed around here somewhere," Jen offered, "though I don't know if that's such a good idea. Sophia doesn't need to wake up to find us all totally wasted." She blushed as she belatedly remembered the elevated company she found herself in now and that the fun-loving girl she knew from university was now Queen of one of the most historic Ancient Kingdoms of the Western World. "Her Majesty, that is."

Morgan returned to his chair, snorting an almost-laugh at Jen's self-correction. "No worries, we all know who 'Sophia' is, and I think this is about as private a setting as it gets." He leaned back, closing his eyes. "So, let me see if I've got the sequence of events sorted. Both Nigel and Sybilla were diddling other people, and somehow Nigel's daughter ended up getting adopted by Sybilla's to hide the fact he didn't have the good sense to keep his dagger sheathed. That should have left everything neatly sorted, but then Prince Dolan died, and Araxelle - whose sperm donor was God only knows who - becomes heiress of Gwynedd, but then she can't be Empowered because surprise, she's not even a Haldane! I imagine _that_ family conversation must have been interesting afterward! So she fakes it as best she can, not wanting the whole world to know that Mummy Sybilla couldn't keep her pants up. Nigel dies, and Araxelle carries on bravely because you just _do,_ I suppose, in that situation. But then, what, Sybilla just couldn't leave well enough alone? That's the bit I'm not sure I've got yet."

Heather looked thoughtful. "In Her Majesty's memories, Duke Henri seemed frightened when they started their road trip. I wonder why? I mean, I get why he might be angry about being asked to participate in a cover-up, but he'd been doing so for at least six years already by that time, passing Princess Sophia off as his own child, so did something else happen to frighten him or set him off?"

Eilonwy pondered the Healer's questions. "That _is_ odd. And why were they going to visit Lady Violet? Do you suppose . . . might she be Sophia's real mother? I mean her biological one, at least; not meaning to diminish Araxelle's relationship to her, since it's clear that she loved Sophia as her own."

Heather remembered something else that she'd not thought that much about at the time, but in light of what she'd just seen in Sophia's memories, now she wondered if it might be relevant. Or was she just grasping at straws, imagining a connection where none existed? "Begging pardon," she said almost apologetically, "but a few days ago I happened to overhear a conversation between Her Majesty and John McIntyre's daughter. I believe he was an armsman to Duke Henri who died in some sort of assassination attempt. Some anti-monarchy protester who had lost the plot, according to the news accounts anyway, but I only barely remember when that happened, I was so young at the time. Does anyone happen to recall how long ago that was?"

"About . . . twenty, twenty-one years ago, maybe?" Morgan mused. "It was maybe a month or two before Henri's accident - well, what we all _thought_ was just an accident before today, at any rate. I wonder, though, now that we know that he didn't simply fall asleep behind the wheel on his own, was the first attempt on his life just some random event, or did Henri have some reason to think that Sybilla was behind it and that she was likely to have another go at him? At least now we know why Henri had Sophia with him all the way out in the mountains near Cuilteine. Not exactly a regular Sunday's outing from Rhemuth, is it, Cuilteine? I've always wondered about how the hell Henri ended up driving a car off a mountain road in an area miles from anywhere, much less Rhemuth, but if he was trying to hide the true Haldane heir from Sybilla, that makes more sense."

"Who is 'Lady Violet'?" Jen asked.

"Lady Violet Estridge, I would imagine," Eilonwy told her. "She was a famous Court beauty back in the day, not to mention Araxelle's Mistress of the Robes, and one of Sybilla's ladies-in-waiting for years before that, I think, though I mainly know about any of that from old archival photographs. She had some absolutely stunning photographs, though. Vintage gowns to die for. Surely she's not HM's mother, though; she'd be what now, in her seventies?"

Heather shrugged. "Nigel was only in his fifties when he died, and that would put him in his seventies now, if he'd lived. Assuming Lady Violet was younger, maybe she went through a late menopause. I can imagine someone throwing caution to the winds in her late forties, assuming that ship has sailed, especially if her cycles are no longer regular, only to fall pregnant unexpectedly. Happens more often than people think. It's not as if people suddenly lose all interest in sex the moment they turn thirty, after all."

"Thank God for that," Eilonwy joked, "since my husband just turned thirty-one last month!"

Morgan gave a half laugh, his humor not quite restored, but his mood perhaps just a tiny bit lighter than it had been a few minutes earlier. "Now will someone please tell my steward that so she'll stop frantically trying to get me to breed?"

"Maybe try introducing her to a few highly unsuitable women, Your Grace, and ask what she thinks of each of them for the future Duchess of Corwyn," Heather joked. "She may well start frantically begging you _not_ to! All right, so we've established that Lady Violet _might_ potentially have been Her Majesty's mother, although I should think we'd want a bit more evidence to support that theory than the known facts that she was stunning and Nigel's pecker still worked," Heather remarked. "But can we at least work out if Lady Violet Estridge actually was the same Lady Violet that Duke Henri was intending to bring Her Majesty to on the day he was killed? I don't suppose anyone here would happen to know if Violet Estridge lived anywhere near Cuilteine at the time, or somewhere that would place Cuilteine on a probable path if the Duke was traveling there from Rhemuth?"

"I don't know, but I can certainly try to find out," said Eilonwy, firing up her laptop. Jen watched as her friend's fingers flew over the keyboard. After just a couple of minutes, she looked up. "Apparently the ancestral home of the Estridges is Cloome Hall, about midway between Cuilteine and Ratharkin, in a valley that cuts between the Cloome and Rathark mountain ranges. So yes, they'd have been right on track for a visit to Lady Violet Estridge. Judging from the distance from Rhemuth, I'm guessing it might have been around a two to two-and-a-half hour drive, maybe?"

Heather nodded. "All right. And they brought luggage with them, so it's clear they intended to stay for a while. I wonder what was in the small wooden box. A travel lunch, maybe?"

Baffled silence greeted the question. Heather looked around at the uncomprehending faces around her. "Oh, that's right! You didn't see that part of the memory. I couldn't understand what Her Majesty was trying to tell me about the rock - or, rather, I suspected I _did_ understand, but I wanted to make sure that she was talking about a jerramán crystal - so I took a more direct look at that bit. I saw Duke Henri put two large suitcases in the boot just before they left Rhemuth, and he handed Princess Sophia a wooden box when he got in. It ended up on the seat between them. Sorry, didn't mean to sound so cryptic."

"Oh my God, I wonder . . . ." Jen's eyes lit up with excitement.

"Wonder what?" Morgan asked.

"Think about it! Imagine you're running away from a dowager Queen whom you believe has recently tried to kill you, and you're bringing the rightful heir to the Haldane throne to visit her real mother. Why would you bring her there, and what might you bring with you?"

"Well . . . ." Heather looked baffled. "I'd bring her there because that's her real Mum, for one thing, and presumably she'd want to keep her safe . . . . "

" _And_ because she's a powerful Deryni," Eilonwy added. "More powerful than the Queen Mother was, I should think. The Estridges have been full-blooded Deryni for generations, as they're proud to tell anyone who asks them."

"Yes, right," Jen said, "and what would you take with you, if you meant to protect the true Heir and perhaps even put things right again?"

Morgan's eyes widened. "The Haldane regalia? Bloody hell, you don't really think . . . ?" He sat in stunned silence for several long moments before reaching a hand out to Heather. "Healer O'Flynn, would you please Show me this box?"


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

 _Late Afternoon  
Eirian House  
December 21, 2021_

Jennifer DeLisle closed the curtains in the Queen's living quarters at Eirian House in an attempt to block out the sun's rays. At the small wet bar, Eilonwy Adams filled a goblet with dark red wine and brought it into the seating area, placing it upon the low table at the center of the space.

"I don't expect Her late Majesty happened to have a shiral crystal around handy?" Heather asked Morgan as she guessed what Eilonwy and Jen were preparing to do.

Morgan snorted. "I'm not sure Araxelle would have known how to use a shiral if it came boxed with an instruction manual," he informed her. "Although I've got a small one in my travel bag if we need it."

"I think the wineglass ought to serve," Eilonwy said. She looked up at the others gathering around the table with her. "All right, I think I want to try this two different ways. First, let's see if we can scry for the wooden box itself. Heather, you were the only one of us who actually saw that memory; do you think you got a good enough look at it to know what to scry for?"

The Healer nodded. "I think so."

"And just in case the box actually _doesn't_ contain what we think it does, it might be good to cross-check by scrying for one of the pieces of missing Haldane regalia," Eilonwy added. "I say one piece rather than the whole set just in case, by sheer bad luck, they aren't actually all in the same place."

"I think maybe I'm missing the significance of the regalia," Heather admitted. "I mean, I'm sure they're quite valuable, but why would Duke Henri have taken the risk of sneaking off with them? I understand trying to protect the true heir, but surely Her Majesty could have come back for her crown jewels at some later time?"

Jen glanced at Morgan, who stated, "Family legend has it that certain pieces of regalia are instrumental in the ritual magic used to empower each new Haldane sovereign upon his or her accession."

"Oh. And Her Majesty's Accession Council is coming up very soon, yes?" Heather asked. "So I take it you need them back before then?"

"Well, we wouldn't absolutely _need_ them before then, but as soon as possible would be best," Morgan said. "Without the power assumption ritual, HM would be as vulnerable as any other untrained Deryni until she could be taught how to use her powers the regular way. With it, she'd have the instant ability to access her full potential without the need for years of training, down to instinctive knowledge of even some of the most esoteric lore. I trust you can see how this has given the Haldane sovereigns an advantage over the centuries?"

"Oh." Heather absorbed the information and its implications before asking, "Did you go through the ritual, Your Grace? _You're_ a Haldane."

He shook his head. "Not one of _those_ Haldanes. Traditionally only the reigning monarch assumes the Haldane power, although the heir may have his - or her - potential activated earlier. I don't think Prince Kelric ever did, though. At least he never got his ear pierced that I noticed."

"And that's significant?" Heather asked.

"One of the pieces of missing regalia is the Eye of Rom," Jen informed her. At the Healer's blank look, Jen gave Morgan a baffled look. "Surely Gwyneddan schools still teach this stuff in history class?"

He shook his head, and Eilonwy gave a short laugh. "No, Jen, we don't get 'Secret Esoterica of the Haldane Monarchy' in high school, sorry. Or even at uni, unless you've had Da as your history professor, and even that subject was not one he normally touched on in his class lectures. It was never meant to be public knowledge, after all, though a very few Deryni historians - Da included - made a point of trying to preserve such knowledge from accidental loss from generation to generation by passing it on to the most promising students they tutored. And thank God for _that,_ or the knowledge might have been lost forever with the Rhemuth Castle bombing!"

"It might have been lost forever even without that," Morgan mused darkly. "After all, it would have been in the best interests of Araxelle's heirs to have that knowledge neatly forgotten so that no one in future would notice they weren't of the true Haldane line. It's the sort of discovery one nearly has to go looking for in order to make, after all; it's not like even the Registry database does an automatic cross-check of everyone's DNA to check for legitimacy. So even under the most normal of circumstances, only a select few would have known for certain that the Haldane regalia bear more than a purely symbolic significance, although the more ritually-minded among us may have suspected this, and even of those who knew beyond doubt that they play some key role in a Haldane's accession, exactly _what_ role they played was generally a matter for speculation outside of the sovereign's Inner Circle."

"And all of Araxelle's Inner Circle died with her, I would think," Eilonwy observed, "aside from yourself, Sir."

Morgan settled into position across from her. "I wouldn't have said I was in Araxelle's Inner Circle, really, although I was in the Prince of Meara's, since Kelric and I were agemates and grew up together."

Jen gave him a quick glance, keeping her thoughts well shuttered. In her concern for her friend Sophia, she had nearly forgotten until just now how close the Duke of Corwyn had been to the deceased members of the Royal Family, and how much grief he must be experiencing as well. Perhaps, if anything, his burden might feel all the greater for being suppressed due to feeling a need to remain strong for Her Majesty. She felt a surge of empathy for the man and quickly looked away, shielding her thoughts, not wanting him to notice and mistake the emotion for pity.

"All right, then," she said, extending her hands to either side to clasp Morgan's and Eilonwy's. "Heather, could you focus all of your thoughts on your vision of the box you saw in Duke Henri's car? Once you've got the image fixed in your mind, if you could share that with the rest of us, I think it might work best if we all focus on it while His Grace does the actual scrying. That is, if you wouldn't mind, Your Grace. Being the only Haldane among us, I figure you're the most likely to find what we're looking for, since you'd stand the closest chance of being at least somewhat attuned to the items already."

He chuckled. "Let's just see what happens. The more you go on about it, the more of a long shot it all seems, and I'd rather not get too caught up in considering our chances of failure. Healer?"

"All right, I'll give it a go." Heather closed her eyes, trying to draw from her own recollection of Sophia's shared memory of the box and picture it as vividly as possible for everyone else in the circle. After a few moments she felt Eilonwy give her hand a slight squeeze, which she took to mean that Eilonwy could see the vision as well, though no one else seemed to react right away. She was beginning to wonder if there was something more she might need to do, something she ought to try to amplify her energies and increase the power of her sharing, when the Duke began to speak. "Out of darkness into the light, come forth," he said quietly, and then there was silence, though Heather began to sense a faint pull on her energies and sensed that Morgan was drawing upon them - and probably from the others in the circle as well - to extend the range of his search.

After a few minutes, he asked equally quietly, "There, is that it?"

She opened her eyes. In the center of the wineglass a reflection of the carved box shone dimly. It appeared half buried, with some dark mass resting beside it - fallen leaves, perhaps? It was hard to make out, exactly. She thought it was outside; spots of light and shadow dappled the carved surface, as if perhaps wintry sunlight shone through tree branches overhead. The wood was no longer the lustrous, dark polished surface of her vision, but weathered and almost gray. "Where _is_ that?" she whispered.

"My guess is that it's right where Duke Henri met his death," said Eilonwy, equally quietly. "I know his car was retrieved from the shallow ravine he drove into when he fell asleep at the wheel, but the weather was mild that day. Perhaps the windows were down, and the box was thrown out during the impact, or maybe a door flew open."

"The bonnet of the car was crushed and the front windscreen shattered," Morgan added quietly, "so with the car having fallen forward, the box may have fallen out that way as well. The photos made front page news, and someone forgot to hide the paper from Kelric and Stefanie, so you can imagine how shattering that was for them."

"Ouch," said Jen with a sympathetic wince. She gave Morgan's hand a small squeeze. "Do you think you could cross-check now to see if you can find the Eye of Rom?"

"It might help if I could remember what it even looks like. I was only ten at Araxelle's Coronation, and not exactly paying attention to her jewelry," he answered.

"Maybe I can help with that." Jen closed her eyes, focusing on one of the clearest photographic images of the Eye of Rom that Eilonwy had managed to turn up during her Internet searches. It was a stunning close-up of the earring in full color. She Mind-Shared the image with the others in the circle, and after a moment she sensed Morgan drawing upon her power again, scrying for the missing item. This time the search took longer, but at last he stopped with a sigh.

"I can't see a thing, sorry," he told them.

Eilonwy smiled, "Oh, that's not necessarily a bad thing, Sir. I just realized, you wouldn't, would you? Not if it's spent the past twenty years shut up inside a wooden box."

* * *

 _Early evening  
Northwest of Eirian House  
December 21, 2021_

"So the Duke of Corwyn drives a black Gryphon Charger 3Z?" Jen took a curious look around the sleek sports car. "With a dark green leather interior?" She laughed. "What, was the dealership out of emerald green leather?"

Morgan rolled his eyes. "I would have thought the darker color scheme would appeal more to your 'Darkling Duke' fanbabe sensibilities," he quipped in return. "Reach into that glovebox and find the road atlas, would you? If you're riding with me, you might as well make yourself useful and be the navigator. And for the record, this was Kelric's car. One of them, anyway. Mine was blown to Kingdom Come at Rhemuth Castle, so HM gave me this one to use until I have time to order a replacement."

"Oh. Sorry." She paused for a moment, not sure how to convey her sympathy, or if it would be better just to let the moment pass. "I imagine you and the Prince of Meara must have been close."

"Very." Morgan kept his eyes firmly fixed on the road ahead in the gathering darkness.

Jen got the strong sense he'd prefer to let the topic drop, so she cast about for some safer subject of conversation. "Do you think we'll be able to find the right spot after all these years? After all, an accident site that's over twenty years old isn't going to have very much in the way of identifying markers left."

"Well, no, there won't be any recent skid marks or broken guard rails at this late date," Morgan agreed. "But when we get closer to the location, that atlas should come in handy as something other than a mere road map."

"Are you sure we should have left HM in her present state?" Jen asked. "What if she wakes up and asks for us?"

"Healer O'Flynn says she's likely to sleep the rest of the night," Morgan assured her, "and your friend Eilonwy is still there if she wakes up and needs anything. Anyway, if I stayed cooped up there one more minute, I would have gone stark raving mad. I need to be doing something, so at least this is something more useful than tacking up photos of Sybilla on every target at the range and then going all berserker on them."

"Sounds like an interesting idea for stress relief, although I think I'd suggest programming her into a VR game instead. But you're right, this excursion will hopefully be more productive. And for once you shouldn't have to dodge the paparazzi, since the Healer had a chance to fix your face before we left."

"Oh, thanks!" Morgan laughed.

"No, I meant . . . ." Jen giggled. "Sorry, that was badly phrased." She gave the Duke a sidelong glance, still not used to seeing him as a freckled redhead, although she had to admit his new appearance was less likely to draw undue attention if they happened to draw some motorist's glance at a traffic stop.

"We should be nearing the turnoff for Arx Fidei," Morgan said. "Let me know if you spot the sign, since it looks like we'll need to take a turn in the opposite direction within a mile after that one."

"Oh my gosh, really? _The_ Arx Fidei?"

Morgan gave her a quick glance. "I imagine so. Why, is there something special about Arx Fidei?"

"That's where the shrine to Saint Jorian is located, isn't it? Not to mention the seminary that produced your very distant cousin, Archbishop Duncan McLain. Possibly Bishop Denis Arilan as well, though I'd have to go back through my history notes to be sure."

"Bishop who?"

"Early Twelfth-Century Bishop of Dhassa. Oh, never mind, I'm probably making your eyes glaze over." Jen stole a look at the Duke, who appeared to be having difficulty containing a smirk. Glamour spell or not, some things never changed, it appeared.

"I think there's our sign just ahead," Morgan said. "No time to stop by the Abbey, sorry, but at least now you'll know where to find it."

Jen gazed wistfully down the side road as they passed the turnoff to Arx Fidei. "I think I can just see the spire of the Abbey in the distance above the treeline," she said.

"Lord have mercy, woman, if you're like this over some ancient abbey, I can hardly wait to show you Coroth Castle. You look like an eager puppy anticipating a treat, hanging out that window! Am I going to have to get you a bib?"

"Easy enough for you to take your own history for granted!" Jen told him as she tore her gaze away from the side road disappearing into the distance behind them. "You've probably got wine in your cellars as old as my country."

"God, I hope not; it would be vinegar by now!" Morgan grinned. "But I take your point." He peered into the growing darkness. "Jen, check the atlas; I think that's our turn just ahead."

Jen found Arx Fidei on the map, then gauged where they were in relation to that landmark. "Are you looking for the Cloome Pass road?"

"That's the one."

"Then yes, I'd say you've found it."

Morgan veered off on the smaller road. "Good. We should be just about halfway there, then. So what happens if this regalia we're looking for _isn't_ in the box Heather described?"

"Then I guess we improvise. I'm sure it's possible to invest a Haldane Queen with her powers without it, but I'd rather not attempt to recreate a Power Assumption ritual from scratch if we don't have to. Sir Will might have had the requisite knowledge to do that sort of thing on the fly, but I don't. Eilonwy knows more than I do about ritual magic, but I doubt that Haldane Empowerment is a regular part of Deryni training even in Gwynedd."

"There might be someone more qualified on this Camberian Council that HM recently made an unexpected acquaintance with. They do owe her a rather large favor; perhaps she can call on them for help?"

Jen shook her head. "I'm not sure I would advise that unless there's no other recourse," she said. "There's very little that's actually known and recorded about the Council's workings, historically speaking, but there's a great deal of rumor and conjecture to suggest that they can sometimes be rather . . . sketchy in their dealings. Granted, I'm sure a lot of that had to do with the particular personalities on the CC at any given time, and the modern Council might be more willing to work with The Haldane with no strings attached, but just going by how they've tended to act historically, I'd say there's more likely to be some _quid pro quo_ if we end up having to go to them for help. Now, individual members of the Council might be safer to ask, as long as they're not working on behalf of the entire group. _That's_ where things sometimes tend to go pear-shaped."

"Are you aware that Lady Maureen is on the Council?" Morgan asked. "And also Father O'Shiele and Lord Arilan. I would say HM is already at least _somewhat_ influenced by the CC, for better or for worse, so let's hope they're less 'sketchy' than some of their predecessors."

Jen's eyes went wide. "Lady Maureen? Are you sure?"

"She was one of the survivors of the Council chamber attack that HM treated at Tre-Arilan a few days ago, so that seems confirmation enough for me."

"Oh!" Jen pondered this new information for a moment. "Well, I would trust Lady Maureen for certain, if we have to go that route, though I'd still rather not." She shook her head in dazed astonishment. "I suppose that must have been what Eilonwy meant when she said her mother has colleagues in certain circles of influence. I wonder if Sir Will knew, or if she joined the Council after his death?"

Morgan laughed. "From what I've heard of Sir Will Sheehan's level of esoteric knowledge, let alone his profound knowledge of Gwyneddan history, my guess is that he was actually _on_ the damn Council! If his wife wasn't already on it when he died, maybe she took his place." Taking in her expression, he grinned. "You look gobsmacked."

"I am! Sir Will's the one who _taught_ me about what little is known of the Camberian Council, and why the aims of the Council and the Haldane dynasty haven't always tended to coincide! There's always been tension in that relationship, from what I was given to understand, yet Sir Will was one of the most loyal men to the Crown I've ever known. I'm not sure how to reconcile all of this in my mind."

"Perhaps 'It's complicated' sums things up?" Morgan arched an auburn eyebrow at her. For all the changes Healer O'Flynn had made to his appearance, Jen noticed the real Morgan's expressions still somehow managed to show through the facade. "I know people tend to prefer less complicated answers, but sometimes life doesn't always fall into neat little patterns. It's not all _Custodes vs Michaelines_ in the modern world."

Jen smiled. "So you know at least a little bit about history, it seems, if you know about the Custodes Fidei and the Michaeline Order. Maybe you're not _entirely_ hopeless."

"Not entirely." Morgan's eyes - his own pale green eyes set in the stranger's features - took on an amused twinkle. "I used to have a set of action figures, growing up. I think they were meant to be generic knights, but Kel and I took a set of markers and colored their surcoats so they'd be the Custodes and the Anvillers, and we'd have full-on wars in the back garden, pretending Rhemuth was under siege and we had to defend the Castle. Maybe not the most historically accurate scenario, especially once Kelric got the bright idea to blow the Custodes army to bits with some fireworks, but jolly good fun." The smile faded as the reality of the week's events came crashing back in on him, and he looked away sharply, swallowing hard, his gaze focused more intently on the road. "Damn it, none of this should be happening!"

"I know," Jen said softly. "On second thought, maybe a battle royale inside that VR capsule in the Eirean House rec room might not be such a bad idea when we get back. You may not think it serves any 'useful' purpose, but it would probably feel pretty darn good to go all medieval on a few targets' bums."

Morgan chuckled. "On their bums? Such salty language, young lady!"

"Well, we can't all be saints like you."

* * *

 _Early evening  
The Royal Astari Hotel  
Penthouse suite  
December 21, 2021_

Peter Astari stood at the large picture window overlooking the City of Rhemuth and the devastated Castle beyond. The neighborhoods adjacent to the Castle had been reopened to traffic as the City moved from a state of emergency to something more closely approaching normalcy, although security around the City's perimeter was still pretty tight, and Peter felt sorry for anyone trying to arrive or depart via the public Portal at Market Square, given the lengthy queues. Not that he could see those long lines from his vantage point, but he'd heard the horror stories from the few tourists who had managed to get past the security blocks to check into the hotel in time for their Christmas Week holiday sightseeing or visits to local friends and families.

Not everyone would be deriving much joy from the holiday this year, of course. The O'Malley family might never see the Christmas season in the same way again.

Maureen approached him with a glass of MacRorie's Old in her hand. "A farthing for your thoughts?"

He took the glass she offered, taking a sip from it while drawing her close with his free hand, kissing her lightly on the brow. "How very fortunate I am," he murmured.

She smiled up at him, led him away from the window to his couch and settled onto it beside him. He slipped an arm around her and she nestled into his side. He savored the moment. Something had changed between them in Marbury - he couldn't quite place his finger on what, or when, or why - but Maureen seemed more amenable to his courtship of her now. _Courtship?_ He almost laughed as the old-fashioned term sprang to mind, but it suited her, this delightful bundle of contradictions who had managed to charm his jaded heart and find a chink in his defenses.

"How is Colin?" she asked once he'd had a few moments to fortify himself with the smooth Border distillate.

"Far from well, although I'm glad I finally managed to talk his mother into taking me up on my offer. He'll be better served at the RHR despite everything. Healer Dr Al-Sayid has made arrangements to keep the boy's identity under wraps, so that should help. Of course, anyone working directly inside his mind will know who he actually is, but it shouldn't be necessary to reveal his true name to those who are simply caring for his physical needs, so there's much less danger of his presence there slipping out to the public at large somehow."

"That's good," Maureen said, curled up in his warmth as she sipped on what looked to Peter like a ridiculously tiny amount of white wine. "I hope you learned something useful when his mother allowed you in to visit him this morning?"

"Don't let all that strong drink go to your head," he jokingly warned her, ignoring the question. "I'd hate for that wine to turn you into a wild woman who might take advantage of me."

She chuckled. "If you thought there was any chance of that happening, you'd probably be trying to talk me into taking a few sips of your MacRorie's Old."

"No." He gave her a small squeeze. "When you finally have your wicked way with me, I'd prefer you completely sober."

"You're distracting me from my question, Peter." She smiled, though her eyes remained serious. "Did you learn anything from Colin's mind that might lead back to whoever orchestrated the Rhemuth Castle bombing?"

"Possibly." He took another sip of his drink. "Sweetheart, I spent a small eternity this morning wandering around inside the mind of a little boy who has spent the greater part of the past week buried underground in a dark box. I've shared what I learned with DI Hamilton's investigative team this morning, and I'll share it with your son-in-law as well either later tonight or first thing on Tuesday, but just now I very much need to be Anywhere But There. And trust me, there are some things you are far better off not knowing. But I did get some good glimpses of the two men who snatched him off the street, as well as a brief look at one who seems to have been in charge of the operation, and I think Devlin was correct in his suspicions. I'd want to see some recent photos to be sure, but the third man I saw in Colin's head looked very much to me like he might have been Eric Armitage of Humanity Ascendant."

* * *

 _Late Evening  
A mountain road near Cuilteine  
December 21, 2021_

Jen turned on the map light as Morgan rummaged through the center console looking for something that he might use as a dowsing tool. After a moment, he retrieved a paper clip and a short length of string. Tying one end of the string to the paper clip, he let it dangle a couple of inches below his fingertips. "Map?"

Jen opened the road atlas to the page showing the section of road they'd stopped alongside of. Morgan dangled the paper clip over the map. It hung straight down for a few seconds before starting to swing. Jen observed that it appeared to swing further in one direction than the opposite. He moved the paper clip about half an inch in that direction. Again, the paper clip momentarily stilled, as if seeking new bearings, then began to swing again, this time not as strongly, although it still seemed to swing slightly more in one direction than the other. Again he moved the clip a very short distance. This time, after a moment the paper clip slowly swung around in a circle before coming to rest above a particular section of road.

"Would you say that's stopped somewhere between mile marker 158 and 159?" Morgan asked.

Jen peered at the page in the dim light. "Looks like that to me."

Morgan nodded, snapping off the map light and easing the car back onto the road again. "That's only about five miles ahead."

They continued in silence for a few more minutes until they passed by mile marker 158. Morgan slowed the car, looking at the landscape for some familiar landmark that might help them pinpoint the exact site where they should begin looking for Duke Henri's crash site.

"There." Jen pointed at a rock outcropping on the opposite side of the road from the ravine. "Isn't that the boulder we saw in some of the long range shots of the accident scene?"

"Yes, I think so." Morgan slowed the car even more, checking to make sure there was no oncoming traffic before crossing over to the narrow strip of grass and gravel on the opposite shoulder of the road and parking there. "I figure this side of the road should be safer than trying to pull over and park at the edge of the ravine," he said. "Ready?"

Jen looked out dubiously at the frigid surroundings and zipped up her winter coat. "As I'll ever be. At least it's not snowing."

"There is that." Morgan moved to the back of the car and opened the boot. Pulling out some climbing gear and a helmet, he exchanged his shoes for boots with more gripping soles.

Jen walked back to join him. "You're sure you know how to use all of that equipment safely?"

"Yes." He adjusted the helmet strap. "Might want to bring a torch; there's a spare one in the car under your seat."

"A tor - Oh, you mean a flashlight?"

He glanced over at her, the amused look back. "Were you planning on flashing someone with it?"

"What do you mean?"

"This isn't Americia, love. It's a torch." He grinned.

"Shall I set fire to it, then, and stick it in a wall sconce?" Jen asked as she went back to the front of the car to retrieve the item in question.

"I'd much rather you didn't. Henry might want it back. Got your phone on you?"

"Yes, why?"

"In case you should need to call for emergency backup. Not that I'm planning on doing anything stupid, but one never knows. You know our location, and the closest town is Cuilteine." Morgan gave the road one final sweeping glance for oncoming traffic before crossing over to the edge closest to the ravine. He switched his helmet light on, his gaze sweeping the area, looking for something sturdy to serve as a suitable rappel anchor.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

Morgan nodded. "I did a bit of search and rescue before becoming the _Duck_ of Corwyn. Besides, it's really not that much of a drop here. Just ten or twelve feet at most. I could probably get down there without the equipment, but I'd rather not take the chance, especially in the dark."

"I don't think getting down without it would be the problem so much as getting back up," Jen observed.

Morgan grinned. "Well, there's that too." He finished securing his ropes. "All right, if you want to be useful rather than just decorative, could you shine that torch right around there?" He illuminated the spot he was referring to with his helmet torch. "That would really help."

"If you fall, what should I do?" Jen asked.

"Well, that would be what your phone is for, isn't it?" He started over the ravine's edge. "Stop being such a Nervous Nellie!"

He descended carefully, not that it was all that much of a descent, until he found solid footing on a ledge of fairly level ground. This appeared to be the area where Duke Henri's car had gone over; even in the darkness illuminated only by the light of his helmet and Jen's torch, he could see small bits of rusty metal that remained from the accident. He went over this ground in a systematic grid, carefully examining every bump that might be a half-buried box.

"I think it was under a tree or something like that," Jen called down to him. "Remember the dappled light?"

There were some shrubs at the edge of this level ground, near where the ravine face took another downward plunge. Morgan turned his attention there, following gut instinct now, until his helmet light shone directly on something that poked up from a small pile of half-rotted leaves and other debris. He knelt and pried at it with a gloved hand, and the surrounding earth released its treasure.

Standing, he looked up at Jen briefly, then opened the box.

"Oh, my God! Did we actually find them?" Jen stood near the roadside edge above him, her hands pressed over her mouth, elation in her eyes. Morgan grinned up at her, holding the box up to give her a better view of its contents before shutting the lid and sliding it into his jacket pocket.

"Coming back up. I think I'm fancying some coffee or a bit of hot cocoa now, aren't you?"

* * *

 _Late night  
Eirian House  
December 21, 2021_

Eilonwy Adams ushered Father Devlin into the Queen's presence and then discreetly left them as she retreated into Sophia's bedchamber to give them a little privacy. "I'm sorry, Father. I'm afraid this is getting to be a habit." Sophia smiled apologetically at the priest whose nocturnal meditations she had interrupted.

"At least Mrs Adams didn't catch me in my robe yet when she arrived, so that's progress," Devlin joked. "And your suite is much more comfortable than the Chapel Royal."

"Yes." Sophia grimaced. "I really ought to look into seat cushions; those pews are rather hard, have you noticed?"

He chuckled. "I'm usually a little busy doing other things during Mass, Ma'am, so I can't say I've really made a study of how hard the pews are."

"Well, at least in here we can sit on comfortable 21st Century chairs, or at least late 20th, so I won't feel like I'm doing penance before I've even started speaking," Sophia joked. "Which reminds me, I don't suppose you brought your . . . ?" She drew a vague loop-like shape in the air with her finger, as though her mind had suddenly gone blank and she'd forgotten the word she was looking for.

Devlin laughed. "You mean my stole? As you can see, I'm actually wearing my collar this time." He fished in his pocket and drew out the purple silk travel stole. "Yes, I did. Mrs Adams indicated that you have a great deal on your mind tonight."

"You might say that." Tears welled up in Sophia's eyes, and she blinked them away rapidly, pinning on a smile.

The priest allowed the silken strip to unfurl between his fingers, kissing the gold embroidered cross on the back of it before slipping it over his head. "So, how can I help?"

Sophia gave a humorless laugh through her tears. "I really don't know where to start, Father! Do I begin with finding out this week that I'm the bastard child of the King I thought was my grandfather, or that my mother wasn't even related to me? Or should I just start with the part about me being Deryni, and that the first use of my powers was to kill my dear old murderous Grandmama?"

* * *

 _Midnight  
Eirian House  
December 21, 2021_

"Is Her Majesty still awake, Henry, or has she turned in for the night?" Morgan asked as he and a sleepy Jen DeLisle arrived at the door of the Queen's private apartments.

"I believe she's still up, Sir. Mrs Adams sent for Father O'Shiele to attend to her about two hours ago, and he hasn't left yet. And how did your mission turn out?"

Morgan opened his jacket to reveal the small wooden box concealed within. "Quite well, thank you. Oh, Doc here has your torch. I persuaded her not to set fire to it."

Jen pulled the flashlight from her coat pocket. "The poor man thinks he's funny," she informed Henry in a stage whisper.

Henry pocketed the tool, opening the door for the two new arrivals. "His Grace of Corwyn and Doctor . . .DeLisle?" His voice rose on an inquiring note as he stared momentarily at the sight before him before regathering his wits.

The Queen lay sprawled across her sofa, partially swaddled in a cozy throw blanket, fast asleep, wet tendrils of hair still glued to her damp cheeks giving evidence of recent tears. Father Devlin sat slumped in his chair nearby, his stole neatly folded but not yet put away. He'd evidently nodded off as well, but at their entry he sat abruptly upright, looking momentarily bemused as his mind struggled to make sense of the unfamiliar room, but upon seeing the Duke of Corwyn his awareness of his surroundings returned. He stood a little too abruptly, but a sudden dizzy spell nearly made him fall back into his chair.

"The Queen's asleep," Dev said unnecessarily before a yawn assailed him.

Morgan's lips twitched. "So I see, Father. I'm not surprised. She's had an emotionally exhausting day."

Sophia stirred. Her eyes opened slowly, but upon seeing her cousin before her, she sat up. "Eilonwy said you were off to look for the box from my memories. Did you find the regalia?"

Morgan slid a quick look at the chaplain, but Sophia intercepted it, understanding his meaning. "Father Devlin already knows."

"Ah." Morgan slid his hand inside his jacket, withdrew it again holding the wooden box. Falling to one knee, he opened the lid to reveal its contents to his Queen.

She reached a finger towards the regalia within, almost but not quite touching them, her features suffused with awe, although when she finally spoke, a light hint of dry humor tinged her words. "Cousin, this had better not be your idea of a marriage proposal, or I'm afraid I shall have to decline."

Jen burst into laughter as Morgan all but sprang back onto his feet. "Not _just_ no!"


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

 _Almost Midnight CST  
(Almost Noon, RST)  
Atherton Palace  
St Michael's Province, Camberia  
December 22, 2021 _

"An Accession Proclamation via the Internet. Welcome to the modern age," King Aubrey of Camberia drawled as he lolled back against his padded headboard to watch the Gwyneddan broadcast on the large wall screen. "Too bad for your schemes that Sophia Haldane's security staff is handling the broadcast in-house rather than allowing in the regular news crews. You could have just walked right on in with the Camberian camera crew. 'Lights, camera, action . . . Ka-BOOM!'"

Malcolm Atherton-Haldane snorted. "Right. I doubt that. They're not _entirely_ stupid." He sat at the foot of Aubrey's bed, his expression tense. "I'm surprised they're even bothering with this formality; the December 16th broadcast made by the little bitch and her pet duke ought to have taken care of the legalities. 'I proclaim myself still alive and your Queen, yadda yadda yadda.' I suppose they're growing careless, willing to become more public, which is to my advantage of course. Or maybe little Sophia just can't wait to hold hands with all her little lordlings and Council wenches and have them pledge their fealty and undying loyalty." He rolled his eyes. "Stupid Gwyneddans and their love for ceremony."

"You're missing your chance, brother; too bad you can't just drop a bomb right on top of their roof and do away with the entire lot in one sitting," Aubrey remarked.

"Thought about it, but their security is too tight to get my sleepers within range, not to mention their wards are so powerful that doubtless every insect within a mile of Eirian House has scurried away from the world's largest bug-zapper by now," Malcolm said, "and also I didn't receive confirmation until yesterday that they've moved the Royal Nest to Eirian House. Could've been Valoret, after all, or some other location. Coroth, even. I wonder if the Haldane pups are going to set up house together and breed? That would be nice and tidy; only one Haldane line to hunt to extinction rather than two."

Aubrey pursed his lips in thought. "Now _there's_ the angle you ought to pursue, at least once things settle a bit and Sophia's security grows more lax. Marry Sophia, and any children you sire on her will consolidate the bloodline nicely. Then you can just pick off the Corwyn line at your leisure."

"I already have two wives," replied Malcolm. "I hardly think the Gwyneddan wench will be amenable to becoming Wife Number Three."

Aubrey laughed. "Well, I wasn't exactly suggesting that you _ask_ her!"

"She's hardly my type."

"I know she's not - far too dark-haired and Nigel-looking for you to imagine yourself shagging, I suppose - but you could always close your eyes and pretend she's Sybilla, or even that pretty assassin who used to serve as your concubine. Where _is_ your little sidepiece these days? The model. What was her name again . . . Shara? Shera? Yes, that's it. Pretend she's Shera. Or just rename the Haldane bitch 'Gwynedd.' You've always managed to get it up at the thought of possessing Gwynedd."

"You're a git, Aubrey." Despite himself, Malcolm found himself smiling.

* * *

 _Noon  
Eirian House Great Hall  
December 22, 2021_

"Whereas it has pleased Almighty God to call to His Mercy our late Sovereign Lady Queen Araxelle Sofiana Jehane of blessed and glorious memory, by whose decease the Crown is solely and rightfully come to the High and Mighty Princess Sophia Morgana Anastasia: We, therefore, the Lords Spiritual and Temporal of this Realm, being here assisted with these Her late Majesty's Great and Privy Councils, with other principal ladies and gentlemen of quality, with the Lord Mayor, aldermen, and citizens of Rhemuth, do now hereby with one voice and consent of tongue and heart publish and proclaim that the High and Mighty Princess Sophia Morgana Anastasia is now, by the lamentable death of our late Sovereign of happy memory, become Queen Sophia the Second, by the Grace of God Queen of this Realm, Princess of Meara, and Lady of the Purple March, to whom Her lieges do acknowledge all faith and constant obedience with hearty and humble affection, beseeching God by whom Kings and Queens do reign, to bless the Royal Princess Sophia the Second with long and happy years to reign over us." The Lord Chamberlain paused before continuing to thunderous acclaim, "The Queen is dead; long live the Queen!"

The hearty acclamation following the Lord Chamberlain's proclamation continued for many long moments before dying down, but as it became apparent to all the assemblage that their new monarch wished to speak, the hubbub faded into an expectant hush. Sophia stood before her throne, waiting for the voices to grow still before speaking.

"By the sudden deaths of my dear family, I am called to assume the duties and responsibility of sovereignty. At this time of deep sorrow it is a profound consolation to be assured of the sympathy which you my people feel towards me and to my remaining family, the Duke of Corwyn. My mother was our revered and beloved head as she was of the wider family of her subjects. The grief which her loss brings is shared among us all. My heart is too full for me to say more to you today than that I shall always work, as my mother did throughout her reign, to advance the happiness and prosperity of my people. I know that in my resolve to follow her shining example of service and devotion, I shall be inspired by the loyalty and affection of those whose Queen I have been called to be. I pray that God will help me to discharge worthily this heavy task that has been laid upon me so early in my life."

Jen marveled at the difference between Sophia at the present moment, as she stood before her assembled Great Council and Privy Council, and the distraught young woman only those of her innermost circle had been allowed to spend time with and comfort just the day before. Whatever words of wisdom or absolution that the Queen's chaplain had shared with her the previous night must certainly have helped, for despite her continued sorrow there was no trace of the previous day's distress in the Queen's demeanor now. No, despite her simple yet elegant mourning dress of deepest black, Sophia the Second of Gwynedd looked every inch a Haldane sovereign at this moment as she proclaimed her accession to the throne before her assembled councillors and - by means of live Internet broadcast - to all of her subjects and the rest of the world beyond the walls of Eirian House.

She stole a peek at the Duke of Corwyn, dressed in the finery of his McLain mother's ancestral tartan, with its green, black, and white sett which closely echoed his own Corwyn colors. There were some men who looked completely in their element in a Border dress kilt and some who were unable to pull off the look, Jen mused, and fortunately Morgan Haldane fit into the former category. His black Border jacket was adorned with the blue sash and badge of the _Ordo Sanctus Michaelis,_ the historic descendants of the ancient Michaeline Knights of legend, and somehow the ceremonial sword he wore at his side managed to look not at all out of place in this modern age. As he turned to watch the Queen, Jen spied the handle of his _sgian dhu_ and suppressed a giggle, wondering how many other weapons the Duke had managed to conceal on his person on that particular day and if he'd driven the security scanning team utterly mad yet. She had to admit, the present-day Duke of Corwyn made for quite a dashing sight; surely the Darkling Duke of Kelson's day would be proud of his twenty-first century heir. She fancied he would be, anyway.

The Queen glanced up at the Lord Chamberlain, catching his eye, and the old Earl nodded. "Will Morgan Haldane, the Duke of Corwyn, please present himself to do homage and swear fealty unto Her Majesty?"

The Duke divested himself of _sgian dhu_ and sword (thus answering Jen's imagined question), handing these over to the Queen's armsmen who stood near him on the dais, and stepped forward on cue, dropping to one knee before his cousin the Queen. Sophia, moved by the emotion of the moment, smiled as she blinked back sudden tears, stepping forward to clasp both his hands between her own in the age-old position for accepting a liegeman's homage.

"I, Morgan Alexander Haldane, Duke of Corwyn, do become your liege man of life and limb and of earthly worship. And faith and truth I will bear unto thee, to live and die against all manner of folk, so help me God."

"And I, Sophia of Gwynedd, hear and shall not forget, nor fail to reward, that which is freely given: fealty with love, valor with honor, and oath-breaking with swift, sure justice. Now rise and go in Our esteem."

Morgan kissed the ring on Sophia's hand and stood, bowing his head before walking to one side of the dais, where the Lord Chamberlain stood beside a desk holding an open registry. He signed the book and returned to his place beside and slightly behind the Queen.

* * *

 _Just after noon  
The Royal Astari Hotel, Rhemuth  
Penthouse suite  
December 22, 2021_

Peter Astari leaned forward to peer more closely at the video feed streaming live over his internet-capable TV screen. "Maureen, is HM wearing the Ring of Fire?"

The Lord Chamberlain called up the other members of the _Ordo Sanctus Michaelis_ , so another minute or two passed before Maureen was able to get a brief unobstructed view of Sophia's hands. "I think it just might be!"

Peter grinned. "I hope it is. Can you tell if she is wearing the Eye of Rom with it? I can't tell with the way her hair is falling over her ears."

They both watched intently for several minutes before giving up. "It's no use. I doubt we're going to get a clear view of her ears today, what with her hair down over them and her head bowed so much while the Court is swearing fealty. Perhaps I can ring up Eilonwy later tonight and find out for sure," Maureen replied. "I wonder where the Ring finally turned up?"

"Maybe Devlin would know," Peter said.

"Maybe _Father_ Devlin knows but can't tell us," Maureen countered. "Remember, his holy vows supersede his oaths to the Council."

"True, though as he reminded us just last week, not everything he hears and sees is bound by the seal of the confessional. But you're right, it might be better to ask Eilonwy, especially since she's in the Queen's trust and in a position to broach the subject of setting the Haldane potential - that is, if that's not been done already."

* * *

 _Shortly after noon  
A middle-class neighborhood  
The Earldom of Derry  
December 22, 2021_

"Is that the new Duke of Corwyn?" Frances O'Flynn fanned herself briskly with a section of the morning news as she and her family watched the images on Heather's laptop screen. "Lord love him, he's a handsome lad! Just like his father, God rest him."

"Isn't he, though?" Heather agreed somewhat absently as she finished folding one of her daughter's blouses.

"Is that Eirian House, Mummy?" little Aderyn asked as she put a pile of folded blouses into her open suitcase. "Is that where we're going to live? It's beautiful!"

"Well, it's where we'll be staying for the next little while," Heather allowed. "I don't know that we'll actually be _living_ there, at least not on a permanent basis, unless that's what the Queen decides she wants, but I'm needed at Eirian House just now, and it's also closer to the RHR, so I may be doing double duty for a bit." She picked up a pair of jeans and held it up to her daughter's waist. "Mercy, you're growing like a weed!" Setting that pair to one side, she pulled a longer pair out of the laundry basket and began to fold it.

"Who's going to take care of Nan while we're gone?" Aderyn asked, giving her grandmother a worried look.

Frances smiled. "Don't you worry about me, petal! It's a great opportunity your Mum's got before her, and no mistake. I'll be just fine. I might even take a bit of holiday once you two have gone; Aunt Minnie has been asking if I'd like to spend a few weeks with her in Dhassa, and I may just take her up on the offer for a week or two. They say the Holy City is lovely."

"You really should, Mum," Heather encouraged her. "Even by car, Dhassa's not all that far away."

"Not far! It's almost two hours by car! How can you tell me that's not far?"

Heather laughed as she handed the folded jeans to Aderyn to put into the suitcase. "Mum, I work in _Rhemuth!_ Dhassa's just in our back garden compared to Rhemuth."

"Aye, I'll grant that, but you take the Public Portal network to get there, don't you?" With a decisive nod, Frances turned back to the laptop screen. "Oh look, they're calling up the rest of the _Ordo Sanctus Michaelis_ now!" She sighed dreamily. "Too bad they're not in full ceremonial kit today, with the capes and such. A fine sight, that!"

Heather shook her head, smiling. "Maybe _you_ should be the one going to Eirian House."

"Oh no, I'd make a complete goose of myself. I doubt I'd manage to get a full sentence out of my mouth without stammering, especially if the likes of _him_ turned up!"

Heather glanced up at the screen in time to see Lord Arilan step forward to kneel at the Queen's feet. She looked away quickly, her cheeks heating, thinking the sight of James Arilan in formal morning dress ought to come accompanied by a Surgeon General's warning.

"Mummy, you dropped my skirt," Aderyn observed. "Why are you pink? Are you having hot flushes like Nan does?"

Frances, fanning herself with the newspaper again, just laughed.

* * *

 _Early morning, CST  
(Early afternoon, RST)  
Atherton Palace  
St Michael's Province, Camberia  
December 23, 2021 (Dec. 22 in Rhemuth)_

"Did you notice the Haldane regalia?" Aubrey asked his brother once the streaming video broadcast had ended.

"I noticed the ring," Malcolm confirmed, "and for a brief moment I thought I caught a quick flash of red when she turned her head to one side, although it could have just been a regular ruby or garnet earring."

"Right," said Camberia's King, "because it's customary to wear red earrings with mourning black."

Malcolm pursed his lips. "You do have a point. I wish I could see that frame again, though. What I glimpsed didn't appear to be glowing."

Aubrey reached under his pillow for a remote control. "Fortunately, I recorded it."

Malcolm grinned. "How'd you manage that?"

"Special software. It records any incoming video and allows you to play it back afterwards, even if it's officially restricted to prevent downloading. Or even, as in this case, if it has been specially encrypted not to allow recording software to capture it without a passphrase."

"You cracked Eirian House's passphrase?"

Aubrey gave a mirthless laugh. "Don't I wish! No, but my techs found a back door. This recording isn't likely to be very clear, though hopefully it will serve." He found the file he was looking for and pressed Play, then Fast Forward. "How far into the ceremony was your brief glimpse?"

"Almost to the end."

"About how far from the end?"

"Maybe five or six minutes."

Aubrey scrolled swiftly through the captured video footage until he reach a mark ten minutes from the end of the broadcast. He clicked Play again.

To Malcolm's disappointment, the recording appeared nearly ghostly, the image flickering at times. "That's no good."

"I warned you the picture quality would be lacking. Still, it might not be totally useless. Tell me when you think we've nearly reached the place."

They watched in silence for a few minutes, then Malcolm said "I think it's just about here." Aubrey picked up the remote, pausing the image, then began forwarding through it in one second increments, freezing each frame for a moment before proceeding to the next.

After another minute, Malcolm said, "There!" On the screen, hidden behind a curtain of Sophia's hair, there was a crescent of red showing through.

"I would say we've found our Eye of Rom," Aubrey affirmed. "Do you notice anything interesting about it?"

Malcolm grinned. "It's not glowing. The stupid chit probably has no idea what it's for!"

"I'd say that's likely. Probably Araxelle never got around to telling her that the Haldane powers require activation." Aubrey gave the screen a smug smile. "Poor dear."

"Lucky me, you mean. This should make my work all the easier," Malcolm gloated.

"True." Aubrey stifled a yawn and switched the TV off, placing the remote on his bedside table. "All right, it's way too late; I'm going to sleep. You're welcome to stay the night. I'll even lend you a dark-haired concubine if you wish; I got one just last week who looks an awful lot like the little Haldane bird. Could be fun." He arched a brow at his brother.

Malcolm grimaced in distaste. "Thank you, but I think not. A bedmate who reminds me of Nigel Haldane would hardly be one to take my fancy."

"Your loss." Aubrey shrugged, waving him towards the door. "Good night, sweet dreams of conquest."

Malcolm gave a courtly flourish in his direction and left. Aubrey waited a few minutes, lost in thought, before cracking the door open to speak to his armsman.

"Did His Grace retire to his quarters for the night, or did he slip off elsewhere?"

"He went straight to his rooms, my Prince," the man replied.

"Good," said the King of Camberia. "Fetch me the new girl. I think I'd like to celebrate my little cousin's Accession after all."

* * *

 _Mid-Afternoon  
Eirian House  
December 22, 2021_

"I think I may never be able to move my fingers again!" Sophia muttered as she allowed Eilonwy to assist her out of her dress. She fell onto the bed, flexing said digits experimentally.

"Sore?" Jen reached out her hand. "Want me to massage them for you?"

"Would you please?" Sophia closed her eyes, enjoying the welcome relief of the massage as Eilonwy replaced the dress on a hanger and hung it out of the way.

"Jen, did Da teach you how to use your powers for pain relief?" Eilonwy asked.

"That's not a Healer talent?" Jen asked, surprised.

"No, it's a fairly basic skill. Healers are much better at it, of course, but any Deryni can learn how to manage general achiness." Eilonwy walked over to take Sophia's hands. "Jen, link with me so you can see how I do this. Sophia, I think you could benefit from Seeing what I do as well, even if it's still a little beyond your capability yet. If I may, I'll establish a shallow link with you too so you can feel what I do as I'm doing it."

"Yes, please."

Eilonwy used a simple pain management spell to erase the lingering achiness in Sophia's fingers from nearly two hours of receiving homage from her Court, followed by the handshakes of councilors and peers wishing to offer their personal condolences before the Queen finally exited the palace Great Hall and all but fled back to her personal apartment.

"That better?" Eilonwy asked as she finished and extracted herself from their shared link, although the question was mostly rhetorical since she'd already felt Sophia's aches ease for herself.

"Much, thank you." Sophia reached up to remove the Eye of Rom from her earlobe and the Ring of Fire from her finger. "Could you put this back in my safe?" She gestured towards the open wall safe nearby.

Eilonwy replaced the two pieces of regalia in the wooden box that had held them for the past two decades and closed the safe door, which was concealed behind a framed painting. "If I might ask, why did you wear those two pieces but not the Crimson Lion?"

Sophia fell back onto her mattress. "I figured a huge brooch would look too conspicuous against my black dress, but on the other hand I thought some people might have an eye out for me to wear at least some of the regalia today - the ring at the very least - so I figured I'd wear the other two pieces. I don't imagine anyone could see much of the Eye under my hair, could they?"

"I didn't even notice it until just a few minutes ago," Jen assured her. "But you're right, it's possible some of the older courtiers might have looked to see if you'd wear the regalia, so it's probably for the best we found it in time."

"Yes," said Eilonwy, "though now that you've worn them in public, it would be best if we had the Empowerment ritual as soon as possible, just in case anyone _did_ happen to get a clear view of the Eye of Rom and noticed it was missing its customary inner light."

"I suppose you're right," Sophia said, sounding tired. "Though part of me wishes I could just sleep the rest of the afternoon away. I don't suppose I should throw off my sleep schedule so badly, though."

"It's probably best if you don't. It would be better to wait until everyone's gone to bed before attempting the ritual, and it would be better still to have at least His Grace of Corwyn's help, and maybe one or two other Deryni as well. Healer O'Flynn, maybe? Though perhaps a small change of scenery would do you some good. It's not too awfully cold outside yet; we could bundle up and have a walk in the gardens or something," Eilonwy suggested.

"Maybe," Sophia said, sounding unconvinced, although she sat up, sliding off the bed to peer out her window towards one of the courtyard gardens in question. Although the earlier crowd had thinned significantly, there were still enough people strolling through the garden to make her hesitant. A flash of red coming through a doorway caught her eye, and she paused to watch as Father Devlin and her cousin exited the palace, making their way across one of the paved paths toward the Chapel Royal.

Jen joined her. "Is that His Grace of Corwyn and that utterly delicious looking chaplain of yours?" she joked.

As if he'd somehow sensed their eyes on him despite being well out of earshot, Father Devlin chose just that moment to glance up toward their window, causing Sophia to leap back abruptly, nearly bumping into Eilonwy who had come to look also. "Sorry!" Sophia apologized with a self-conscious laugh. "I shouldn't be peeking at windows dressed only in my slip."

"From outside I doubt anyone can see you," Eilonwy assured her. "They've got the brightness of full daylight out there and it's comparatively dark in this room, so anyone would need better than Deryni vision to tell exactly what you're wearing. Or in this case, I suppose _not_ wearing." Catching a look at Sophia's face, she laughed. "You're blushing!"

"I am not!"

"Yes, you are," Jen teased. "That is definitely a blush. Now what I'm wondering is, are you just blushing because you've been caught standing at windows in your unmentionables, or could it be that we need to find you a female confessor for those moments when your present chaplain simply won't do? 'Father, bless me for I have sinned; I missed nearly all of your homily because I was staring raptly into your bonny blue eyes, thinking of how nicely that red cassock sets off your dark hair and praising God you're not vowed to celibacy like the priests of Bremagne.' I can see how that might be a problem." She ducked the pillow the rosy-cheeked Queen swung at her head.

"Really, stop!" Sophia tossed her pillow back onto the bed. "It's not funny at all."

Jen glanced uncertainly at Eilonwy, then back at Sophia. "I'm sorry, I was just joking. I didn't mean to offend."

"No, it's not that," Sophia sheepishly admitted. "It's just that it's a little too close to the mark for comfort. I suppose a female priest might be a wiser choice under the circumstances - certainly it would be easier - but the reason I chose Father Devlin . . . . Well, it has nothing at all to do with how he looks, although I'll admit he's quite nice to look at." She looked up sharply. "But _that_ does not leave this room!"

Eilonwy smiled. "We promise not to go around stating the blatantly obvious fact that your chaplain is nice to look at. I think your Court can figure that out on their own without our help. _I've_ even twigged to it, despite being a happily married woman."

Sophia laughed. "Not _exactly_ what I meant, but thank you."

* * *

 _At roughly the same time  
The Queen's Garden  
Eirian House_

A movement behind the open curtains of one top floor window caught Father Devlin's eye, and he glanced up at it just in time to see a female silhouette draw back beyond his view. He thought that section of the palace might contain the Queen's apartment - yes, a quick look around to get his bearings made him sure of it. He hoped she was doing well this afternoon. She had held up wonderfully at her first Grand Court, in his estimation, not that he was the best judge of such things.

Morgan, sensing the priest's sudden inattention to their conversation, followed his gaze upwards. "She did well," he said, as if he'd Read Devlin's thoughts.

It was probably just as well that the Duke hadn't done just that, Devlin reflected behind tight shields, because those thoughts had been tinged with perhaps a bit more wistfulness than was quite healthy for a man to be feeling towards a woman who was not simply his sovereign, but also the beloved baby cousin of a man who, quite frankly, Devlin suspected could be terrifying if his protective instincts were stirred up. He certainly did not intend to be the one to stir up _that_ hornet's nest! "I thought so too," he replied, careful to keep his voice neutral.

"I understand that you're a trained Deryni," said Morgan. "Lord Arilan praises your skill most highly, especially when it comes to ritual magic."

"Lord Arilan may be biased, sir," Devlin admitted. "We trained together."

"Perhaps," said Morgan, "although I don't think he'd risk HM's safety simply on the basis of a boyhood friendship." At Devlin's surprised look, he smiled. "Yes, I took the liberty of having you vetted."

"Understandable," Devlin said, glad he'd apparently passed whatever inquiries the Duke might have made.

Morgan took a seemingly casual glance around, though Dev suspected it was anything but, before leaning toward him to add in a cautiously low voice, "The Queen has informed me that she told you about the significance of the Haldane regalia. It would be helpful to have the assistance of a Deryni priest. Lord Arilan trusts you, and I trust Lord Arilan. Mostly. Tell me honestly, Father, are you enough of an adept to participate in an Empowerment ritual?"

"I am, sir."

"Good. May we use the Chapel Royal?"

"Absolutely. When did you have in mind?" Devlin asked.

"Tonight. I need to confirm the plan with HM, but I'm thinking around midnight would work best."

The priest nodded his assent, ruefully wondering if life in the Haldane Court would ever allow him a decent night's sleep again.

* * *

 _Roughly the same time  
The Transfer Portal Room  
Eirian House_

"Good afternoon, Healer O'Flynn and Miss O'Flynn," an Eirian House guard greeted Heather and Aderyn as they stepped off the marble Portal stone together. Too well trained to rely solely on visual identification, he also waved a scanning wand over both of the new arrivals before permitting them to walk through the weapon sensor gate one at a time.

"How do you know my name?" Aderyn asked as she walked through the gate.

The guard smiled, allowing the child to peek at the roster on his tablet. "See there? That's your name, isn't it?" He touched a stylus to a box beside it.

"Yes, and there's Mummy's," Aderyn informed him. "Don't forget to tick her box too."

"You're right, I mustn't forget that," said the grandfatherly guard, looking charmed as he touched his stylus to the second box. "Healer, if you'll step to the right, I believe the Lord Chamberlain is sending someone along shortly to escort you to your rooms." Glancing down at Aderyn, he added "And to show you where the palace schoolrooms are, young miss, if you will be continuing your stay past the Christmas hols."

"Will we, Mummy?"

"I don't know yet, pet," Heather replied quietly. "We'll just have to wait and see."

A familiar figure strode into the room. "It's utter chaos out there, Sims. Lord Culdi's going in three directions at once, and nattering on about someone down here needing a guide because of Miss Kendall turning up sick, so I said I'd pitch in . . . ." He stopped short as his gaze landed on Heather. "Hello, is it _you_ needing a guide?"

"Is Miss Kendall in need of my services?" Heather asked at nearly the same time, not sure if she was sad or relieved that Lord Arilan had managed to find time to change into less formal clothing since her brief glimpse of him on screen earlier that morning, although he still looked dangerously appealing in the more casual black knit sweater and charcoal trousers he wore now.

"No, I doubt you can help; she's come down with flu, from the sound of it. Lord Culdi's already packed her off to bed with directions to treat the symptoms until he can have a physician sent over." Noticing the young girl standing beside Heather, he paused briefly in surprise before meeting her eyes again in silent inquiry. The Healer glanced away, fumbling with her suitcase with one hand while taking the child's hand with the other.

"Here, let me help with that," he offered, stepping forward to assist with carrying their luggage.

"Are you a knight?" the girl asked. James glanced down at her curiously. Her features were Heather's in miniature, although her hair was nearly as dark as his own and her black-fringed eyes were more green than blue. With a start, he realized she could almost pass for his child, despite the complete impossibility of that.

"I am," he answered, smiling to conceal his confusion. She had to be somewhere around nine or ten, he guessed, although he wouldn't have guessed Heather old enough to have a child that age. Then again, he supposed she must be - at least barely so - if she'd been a Healer for long enough to have earned Karim's professional respect. "How did you guess?"

"We saw you on the telly this morning," the child informed him. "My Nan thinks you're handsome."

"All right, ah, what's our room again?" Heather prompted the guard, an apparent attempt at a diversion that might have been more successful had she not caught Sims trying to choke down a laugh.

The man eventually got himself under control without strangling. "Queen's Wing, Lord Arilan. The Green Suite."

"The Green Suite. Yes. Well. Shall we?" James led the Healer and her child out of the Portal Room and down the corridor towards the Grand Staircase.

* * *

 _Later afternoon  
Eirian House grounds  
December 22, 2021_

"So, has His Grace of Corwyn spoken with you yet today?" James ventured.

Father Devlin, having forsaken his cassock for the moment in favor of a comfortable pair of old jeans and a warm sweater, idly selected a flat rock to skip on the surface of one of the ornamental ponds gracing the parklands just beyond the formal gardens of Eirian House. "Yes," he answered.

"About the Empowerment ritual?" James persisted, just to ensure that he and his monosyllabic friend were actually on the same page. Knowing Dev, 'Yes' could equally well mean 'His Grace said hello to me in passing.' He'd learned not to assume. Sometimes he thought Devlin enjoyed giving him cryptic answers just to be annoying.

A slight tug at the corners of Devlin's lips confirmed James' suspicion. "Yes," he answered, skipping another rock on the pond's surface.

Two could play at this game. "And?" _Let's see him find a one syllable answer to that one!_

Devlin shot James a sidelong glance, his eyes crinkling slightly with suppressed laughter, and merely shrugged.

James threw his head back, beseeching the heavens for patience. "Would you fancy a midwinter swim, because you're _this_ close!"

Dev's laughter broke free. "Yes, he spoke to me about participating in the ritual tonight. Midnight, in the Chapel Royal, if he's not confirmed with you yet."

"He hasn't, but I'm actually the one who suggested the time and place when we discussed it earlier, before the Accession Council. And also the one who suggested that he ask you to participate."

"Yes, he hinted as much." Dev skipped a third rock. This time the rock made it all the way to the opposite bank of the pond. He smiled in satisfaction.

"Did he say who the other participant would be?" James asked.

"No, but I'm guessing the most likely choice would be Eilonwy Adams, especially if Lady Maureen has had a chance to speak with her in the past week about bringing up the subject to HM, and surely she would have by now. Although I suppose His Grace might choose a Healer instead, since we have one in residence at the moment."

"Yes, I saw. I helped her get settled in. _Them."_ At Dev's look of question, James added, "Did you know Heather has a daughter?"

"Does she?" Devlin studied his friend. "And that bothers you?"

"No!" At Dev's raised eyebrow, James elaborated, "I mean, no, it doesn't bother me that she's a mother, it's just . . . ."

"Just?"

If James had been holding a rock at that moment, he might have been tempted to skip it across Dev's thick head. "Well, generally when there's a child in the picture, there's usually a man as well."

Dev nodded, his lips twitching in that maddening not-smile. "Usually. At least at some point in the process."

"Damn it, Dev!"

The smile broke free. "You fancy her, don't you? Well, she's not married, if that's what's got your knickers in a twist. Though I don't get the impression she's particularly looking for another relationship either," Devlin warned, his expression growing serious again. "At least not the short-term sort you've made a speciality of up till now."

"I never said I was looking for . . . Wait, how do _you_ know she's not married?"

That damned impish look again! "I asked her."

"You . . . ?" _Oh God, surely Dev's not interested . . ._ "Why?"

Devlin laughed. "You're such fun to wind up!" Shaking his head, he added, "I helped get her living arrangements sorted. HM didn't know whether Heather just needed a single room, a family suite, or something in between, so I offered to make the necessary inquiries. I'm not poaching on your preserve. But if I might make a suggestion, please keep in mind that if there's not a man in the picture anymore, that means either he's dead or one of them chose to end the relationship. If she's a widow, then she had the expectation of a lifelong match cut short all too soon. If she's divorced, then no matter whose choice that was, she's had some heartbreak that doesn't need exacerbating. And if she's never been married, then the last thing she needs is another man in her life to use her without taking care not to hurt her. You need to watch your step."

"So, is that your not-so-subtle way of telling me I need to keep my trousers zipped?"

"No, that's my not-so-subtle way of telling you that if you _don't,_ then don't look to me for sympathy if you muck up this relationship and the Healer performs an amputation of the Arilan pride and joy."

"Oh, thanks! For whatever it's worth, Dev, I wasn't planning on hurting her."

"James, James! You never _plan_ to hurt anyone; you simply do. This time around, try simply not."

* * *

 _Later afternoon  
Eirian House stables  
December 22, 2021_

"Your Grace! Were you planning on riding?"

Morgan pivoted in mid-stride, his gaze travelling up to meet Jen DeLisle's. She appeared to be quite comfortably mounted astride one of the Queen's mares, looking entirely at ease. Definitely not her first experience with a horse, then.

"That wasn't my original intent, but I suppose I could be talked into it. Henry said HM was headed this way."

"She was, and now she's headed _that_ way." Jen pointed to a bend in the road ahead. "She and Eilonwy are just up ahead. Join us?"

"Give me just a few minutes. I'll catch up. Was she headed for any destination in particular?"

Jen laughed. "Yes, _away._ She just needed to get out of the palace for a bit. But don't worry, we'll stay well within the warded area. I can tell HM that you're planning on meeting us. I think she said something about heading for some stone formation . . . ."

"Ah, yes - the Gazebo." Morgan smiled. "I know right where that is. It's not really a gazebo, and it doesn't even look like one, really, except to youngsters with overly active imaginations. It's more like . . . well, you'll see soon enough." Looking at her horse then back up at her, he added, "So, do you know how to handle that thing? It's not exactly like driving a car."

"Hm. Let's see, I point this end forward and the kicking end back, and try not to run over pedestrians? Requires lots of maintenance; expensive to feed? Seems just like a car to me."

He chuckled. "All right, just don't fill her up with petrol." Morgan waved her on.

Several minutes, a quick change of footwear, and a freshly saddled horse later, he caught up with Sophia and her two ladies-in-waiting. It hadn't been difficult; at the pace they were riding, he estimated they might reach the small grouping of standing stones that was their alleged destination by early July. "If those horses go much slower," he called out as he approached them, "they'll be walking backwards!"

"We were waiting on you," said Sophia. "You're welcome!"

He drew up alongside the ladies, who picked up their pace slightly now that he had caught up with their party. "So, do you own horses at home?" Morgan asked Jen.

" _Horses,_ no. And _own,_ not exactly. There's one on my Gran's farm she lets me ride, though."

"Ah, that explains it. That's where you learned how to ride, then?"

The Americian made a sound that might have been a brief laugh or perhaps just a huff of air, it was hard to tell. "No, I learned at summer camp. Mom and Pop packed me off to one camp or another just about every summer until I turned eighteen, and most of those camps had horses, so I got lots of riding practice."

He sensed he'd veered close to a sensitive topic, so he decided to steer back onto what he hoped might prove a safer course. "But you've kept in practice since then on the family farm?"

"My _grandmother's_ farm, yes. She loves horses. And dogs, cats, birds, and pretty much any stray beast that wanders up." This time her smile broke free, a truly dazzling sight compared to the more restrained version she'd only half conjured up while referring to her parents.

"Does she have a particularly strong talent for animal rapport, then?"

"For a human, yes."

"Ask her what her grandmother's horse is named, cousin," Sophia said, a suspiciously amused twinkle in her eyes. Eilonwy started to laugh.

"I'll bite. What's the horse's name?" he asked, his wariness growing as Jen, too, appeared to be fighting off laughter.

"Alaric," she answered after a moment. "Lovely black stallion." At his slow headshake, she added, "We had a Morgan too, but he had a bad tendency to bite, so Gran ended up trading him."

"So I've a bad-tempered Americian horse as a namesake? That's just grand. Tell me he had a smooth gait at least."

"Oh yes, he gave a great ride, but _such_ a nasty temper!"

Morgan chewed on his bottom lip, his shoulders shaking, as Sophia exploded into laughter beside him. After a moment, he commented, "Oh God, _so_ many things I could say to that, but every single one sounds like some tawdry tabloid headline! Sophia, could I please have that as my epitaph someday?"

"Depends. I'll want a second opinion from your Duchess first," the Queen answered, "since I can only personally vouch for the latter quality."

"So, moving right along from wayward stallions and my sex life, as much fascination as those topics may hold amongst tabloid journalists and Americians, I've made arrangements with Father Devlin to secure the Chapel Royal for tonight. Around midnight, if that would work for you?" Morgan arched a questioning brow at Sophia.

"This is for setting my Haldane potential?" she asked.

"Yes, and for Empowering you fully. I don't see any reason to delay, and several reasons not to put it off any longer than we must. Father Devlin is a trained adept and has expressed willingness to assist in the ritual. I was thinking, if you agree, that Lord Arilan could also lend a hand, and as for the fourth participant . . . ." He glanced at Eilonwy in silent question.

"I would be glad to help," she assured them both, "and actually, I've brought up the topic with Sophia already, but wasn't certain who else might be available to assist, so I'm glad there's already a plan in the works."

"Yes, so am I," said Sophia, "if only to stop Eilonwy and Jen from nattering on endlessly about the need." She smiled to let her friends know she was just teasing.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Jen asked.

"That depends; how well trained are you in esoteric magic?"

"Not very," she admitted even as Eilonwy shook her head. "I've read a great deal about its history and theory, but I only have what training and practice Sir Will was able to teach me before he died, and we were only just starting to cover the basics of ritual magic."

Morgan nodded. Looking at Eilonwy, he asked, "Does she have enough knowledge to observe safely and serve as a doorkeeper?"

"She could do that," Eilonwy acknowledged.

"All right, then, how about this plan, Sophia? Father Devlin, myself, Eilonwy, and Lord Arilan at the four quarters, with Doc here as gatekeeper within the Chapel and your armsmen guarding the doors from the outside. I'm thinking it might be best to have a Healer on hand also, if Miss O'Flynn would be available."

"We could ask her," Sophia agreed, "although I believe she brought her daughter back to Eirian House with her, so she may not wish to leave a young child alone in a strange room on her very first night."

"Not a problem," Morgan assured her. "Did you forget we're Deryni? That's what sleep spells are for."


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

 _Midnight  
The Chapel Royal  
Eirian House  
December 23, 2021_

Sophia Haldane stood at the doorway of the Chapel Royal clad in a simple white silk dress, her excitement over her upcoming power assumption mingled with trepidation. The Chapel was only dimly lit - up ahead, the Presence Lamp shone forth with a comforting glow. Someone - possibly Father Devlin, for he was walking from that direction now towards a large candlestick set along the right wall - had lit two candles and placed them upon the altar.

She stepped forward, silently urged on by Eilonwy, who wore a simple, figure-skimming dress of soft blue for the occasion. Jen remained by the door, where she would observe and stand watch over the proceedings from a safe distance.

The priest, once again dressed in the red cassock of a Royal Chaplain and wearing a white stole, lit the candle, and Sophia savored the aroma. The beeswax candles used at Eirian House, she'd been told once by Araxelle's chaplain, were permeated with a fragrance blended according to a recipe that had been handed down for generations. She hoped it had actually been written down somewhere and that Father Devlin would be able to find it so that the tradition could continue. It was some combination of frankincense and myrrh, with a bit of sandalwood added and just the tiniest bit of cinnamon to add warmth and accentuate the blend of heady aromas. The scented candles had been reserved for use only on very special occasions; Sophia felt certain this night's working would fall into that category.

Father Devlin, heading towards her now, smiled and waved her forward. Sophia continued up the aisle towards the altar, genuflecting as she reached the more brightly lit area of the chapel's interior. The priest continued on his path, his steps taking him behind her. Glancing towards him, she saw he was moving another candlestick to a position just beside the main aisle. This candle he lit also.

As he moved toward the left-side wall, Morgan, wearing the dress shirt, trousers, and regalia of the _Ordo Sanctus Michaelis,_ though leaving off the full ceremonial garb for the sake of comfort and ease of movement during the ritual, moved to join him. "I imagine given its age, the Chapel Royal's altar actually faces true east?" Morgan asked. "Not simply liturgical east?"

"Yes," Father Devlin confirmed. "I double-checked earlier today. Although symbolic east should work just as well."

They had reached the center of the illuminated area, and here Eilonwy left her. Father Devlin reached the left-side candlestick but here paused beside Lord Arilan, the latter darkly handsome in his black sweater and charcoal trousers. Together, they acknowledged Healer O'Flynn's arrival. She produce a small vial from her pocket, and the three conferred quietly for a few seconds. Heather entered the as-yet-unwarded circle and placed her contributions to the night's proceedings on a small linen-draped table that Sophia belatedly noticed had been placed before the altar. Aside from the vial, this appeared to be a small assortment of first aid supplies. On this table were also a goblet of wine, a bowl full of what appeared to be water, and her regalia box.

Morgan approached the altar, bowing before the Presence before gently laying his ceremonial sword upon it for later use. Father Devlin, having worked his way back to the altar at this point, blessed the sword, consecrating it for the use that Morgan would put it to later.

Eilonwy returned through a door Sophia thought led into the vestry, carefully handing a thurible to the priest before rejoining Sophia briefly to cast a small amount of what appeared to be salt into the bowl filled with water. Smiling at Sophia, she took the bowl and walked toward the altar, genuflecting before beginning to work her way in a clockwise movement around the room from candlestick to candlestick, using her fingertips to sprinkle the circular pathway as she walked.

Father Devlin filled the thurible with incense and, after similarly making his obeisance towards the altar, also began to cense the circle, following the same path that Eilonwy had walked along. Once he made it completely around, he censed the other participants before handing the thurible to Morgan, who censed him as well. The fragrance of incense filled the Chapel Royal, though curiously the smoke seemed mostly confined within the circle.

Devlin took a position standing before the altar as Morgan hung the thurible on its stand nearby and Eilonwy took up a station to Sophia's rear, closest to the chapel doors. They waited expectantly on James and Heather to set up the next phase of the ritual.

"Your Majesty," James asked formally, "will you now assume the Haldane powers, and in doing so take up that sacred trust which is yours by birthright, and do you trust those gathered around you with body and soul, commending yourself into our hands for the duration of this working?"

"I will, and I do," Sophia replied, only a little hesitant, for while she did indeed trust everyone in the room, Lord Arilan's words had tuned her nervousness to a higher pitch.

Heather, smiling reassuringly, stepped forward. "May I sedate you now, Ma'am? This should make the potential setting go a bit easier for you." She opened the vial she'd brought in with her and allowed Sophia to take a cautious sniff of its contents before pouring a bit of it into the wine, swirling it in the goblet to mix the contents.

"What's in it?" Sophia asked as she took the goblet from Heather and brought it to her lips.

"A sedative mixed with a strong analgesic. Do you want me to be more specific?"

Sophia, not wanting to think too closely upon the possible reasons why she might need pain relief if she was to spend most of the ritual in a stupor, decided she might be better off not knowing just at the moment.

"Bottom's up, then, Ma'am. Pretend it's a drinking game based on how many women Lord Arilan has been featured on tabloid covers with since his testicles first dropped. That ought to do it."

It was impossible for Sophia to focus on her worries in the wake of Heather's breezy comment and the fleeting expression of consternation on James' face before he quickly masked it. Narrowing her concentration on the effort to retain a straight face and avoid causing James further embarrassment, Sophia polished off the contents of the goblet quickly.

Heather gloved up before touching her fingertip to the mouth of the vial, then dabbing a bit more of the liquid it contained onto Sophia's right index fingertip. "Are you right or left handed, Ma'am?" she asked Sophia.

She could feel the drug already beginning to take effect, making her feel slightly distanced from what was happening around her. "Right," she murmured through lips that now seemed strangely hard to form into the proper shapes to make words.

A cool sensation in her left palm made her look down in dulled curiosity to discover that Heather had poured out what little of the mixture that remained into her slightly cupped left hand. Wiping the excess away with a square of gauze, the Healer tucked the used gauze into a small plastic bag retrieved from her pocket, carefully peeling off her gloves to discard them in the bag as well and leaving additional squares of gauze on the table for some future use, then handed James a small object wrapped in the sort of paper that bandages, sticking plasters, and other similar first aid items came packaged in. James peeled back the paper to reveal a metal lancet.

Heather took the wrapper from him and opened the regalia box before inclining her head respectfully toward Sophia and retreating from the circle. Through bleary eyes, Sophia watched as Morgan picked up the sword from the table and began to trace a circle on the floor with the tip, following along the same path as Eilonwy and Father Devlin had done earlier. Along the path the sword's tip took, the traced circle upon the stone floor began to glow.

What happened next, she couldn't quite say. When Morgan completed his full circuit, she was not entirely sure, but once he had finished he took a position to her right, a calming, reassuring presence. She fought down an insane urge to laugh; whatever descriptions she might normally come up with for her Haldane cousin, 'calming' was not generally one of them!

Father Devlin spoke now, from seemingly miles away rather than just mere feet in front of her. "We stand outside time, in a place not of earth. As our ancestors before us bade, we join together and are One."

The suggestion of joining together and oneness created a vision of an entirely different sort of unity in Sophia's mind, to her startled embarrassment. She closed her eyes briefly, willing herself to pay attention to the matter at hand, though her ability to make sense of Devlin's disembodied voice was swiftly eroding. She forced her drifting eyelids open once more, anchoring the quiet sound of the priest's voice more securely to his body, not understanding what he was saying anymore, although a sudden swirl of golden light and wind encircling him, tugging at his hair and clothing, made her think that whatever power he'd just invoked had responded to the call. _Raphael,_ some detached and slightly more aware corner of her mind prompted.

Beside her now, to her right, Morgan was speaking. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the candle behind him flare up, its flame oddly more red than normal fire, while ghostly tongues of fire traveled up his body before dancing over his head as if there had been some brief recurrence of Pentecost. _Michael._

Behind her now, she heard Eilonwy's voice, soft and soothing. Sophia attempted to cast a glance over one shoulder, but the motion made her dizzy. She clutched at the table as she heard what sounded oddly like the ripple of running water behind her. She hoped it was illusory, like the fire that had momentarily surrounded Morgan without consuming him. A blue glow seemed to brighten the room for a moment before dying back down. _Gabriel._

Lord Arilan spoke now, his voice coming from her left. As he finished, Sophia felt the ground beneath her quake, although she was far too heavily sedated by then to feel any fear. The Chapel windows rattled briefly, then were still. An odd swirl of color, like the blackish-green iridescence of a raven's plumage, swept around him like a vortex before dissipating. _Uriel._

Devlin brought his hands up above his head swiftly, his palms clapping together. A shimmering dome of light appeared, starting as a curtain of liquid light which flowed upward from the glowing circle left by Morgan's sword to merge at a central point above her head. He said something else then, but by now she was unable to do more than gaze upon him in wonder. He seemed almost like an angel to her, still haloed in faint golden light.

A few moments of silence followed, and she allowed her eyes to drift shut again until a sharp pain in her fingertip caused them to jerk open again to focus more closely upon what Lord Arilan was doing.

"Sorry, Ma'am," he said quietly as he touched something to the blood welling up on her skin. The words sounded garbled, as if spoken underwater, though at least this time the unexpected pain had revived her just enough so she could understand him. He retrieved something from the wooden box before her and touched it to the blood. It began to glow from within. That was good, because for some elusive reason she couldn't call to mind just then, that was important. James' lips - quite lovely lips, she was forced to admit, when viewed from such a close vantage point - curved upwards in a slight smile as he touched the object to the ring he held in his other hand. It, too, began to glow.

Wiping the excess blood off the first object onto a gauze square, he handed it to Eilonwy. Seeing it more clearly now, Sophia dimly recognized it as the Eye of Rom. She felt Eilonwy's fingers gently stroke her hair away from her right ear to set the earring's post in place through her pierced lobe. As this was done, Father Devlin also approached, taking the Ring of Fire from James once it, too, had been wiped clean, and placing the ring upon the third finger of her right hand. Instinctively her hand clenched, securing the loosely fitted ring. She felt a tingle course through her.

Morgan approached next, putting the Crimson Lion in her right hand with the clasp side upwards. Taking her left hand, he turned it palm up, holding both hands loosely as he willed her to keep her eyes open for this final stage of the ritual.

"Sophia, do you understand what you must do now?" His voice sounded strangely like the crackling of flames.

Such lovely eyes her cousin had, the clear green of pale glass! There was something that she alone could do now, she wasn't entirely sure what yet, but deep down the certainty of it filled her, spreading through her until it surfaced to the realm of conscious knowledge. She stared down at the three-inch-long clasp in one hand and her stained palm of the other, the knowledge clicking into place. Vague alarm flooded her, and she raised her eyes to Morgan's once more, seeing love and compassion mingled in his gaze. Strength flooded her then, strength and courage, and with a warm smile back at him blossoming into joyful acceptance she touched the center of her palm to the clasp's point and drove it home.

* * *

 _Very early morning  
The Queen's Bedchamber  
Eirian House  
December 23, 2021_

"How is she?" Father Devlin asked the Healer. He had known - or _thought_ he'd known - what to expect when the Queen completed the ritual to set her Haldane potential, but even so, he'd yet to recover from the shock of seeing the surge of power coursing through Sophia's petite frame, causing her to fold in on herself before a nearly explosive convulsion shook her entire body, which stiffened briefly before crumpling limp and seemingly lifeless, tumbling forward into Morgan's arms. Her reaction to the empowerment had shaken them all.

"She's finally coming around," Heather assured him.

On the other side of the bed, Jen and Eilonwy sat vigil over their friend, their faces pale and set. Michael and Henry had taken quite a bit of reassuring when they burst into the chapel to find their fallen charge unconscious within Morgan's protective embrace. They had escorted the Duke, the Healer, and the two ladies-in-waiting back to the Queen's apartment once the wards had been safely dispersed, leaving him and James to finish tidying up the chapel so that none entering that place the following morning would guess what had been done in there the night before. Only afterward, once the two of them had finished this task and caught up with the others in the Queen's chambers, had the two armsmen been willing to leave her side, albeit only to take turns napping in the sitting room outside her bedroom door, unwilling to put any more distance than that between themselves and their charge while she remained so vulnerable.

Morgan sat on the near side of the bed, Sophia's small hand tucked safely within his larger one. At some point the Ring of Fire had been eased off her finger, stored away for the moment in the regalia box along with the Crimson Lion, although the Eye of Rom still pulsed softly, its red gleam shining through her ebon hair. James leaned against the door, his face a closed mask, an expression that Devlin recognized from long years of association with his childhood friend. James tended to withdraw into himself when struggling for mastery over strong emotions such as this night's working had produced.

The Queen stirred, long lashes that had lain fanlike upon pale cheeks now fluttering open, her expression vague at first, but as her gaze met Devlin's a flicker of something like recognition entered them. She started to say something, but her voice was too quiet to make out, and it trailed off nearly as soon as it had started. Heather waved a small ampoule of smelling salts beneath her nose. "Could you repeat that, Ma'am?" she asked.

This time the royal gaze lingered on him a fraction longer, and when the Queen spoke, she was clearly - if very quietly - audible. "He's far too handsome, make him stop."

The ladies-in-waiting burst into laughter borne of mingled hilarity and relief. Devlin, blushing, turned a nervous glance towards Morgan, who gave an amused snort. "She's drunk" was his blunt opinion on his cousin's unexpected comment.

"That she is," agreed the Healer, "or high as a kite at any rate, although the sedative is wearing off swiftly now, and she should be back to her regular self in just a few more minutes. I think it would be best now if the rest of you leave to let her sleep, not to mention catching up on your own. I'll just stay long enough to make sure she comes down completely before easing her into a more normal slumber until daylight. You two have an adjoining room, yes?" she asked Jen and Eilonwy. At their confirming nods, she added, "Good, then if she should wake and need anything, you'll be close at hand, but I wouldn't count on her waking up much earlier than noon. If anything pressing chances to come up sooner than that, she _can_ be awakened earlier, but otherwise I'd just suggest telling the Lord Chamberlain or anyone else who might ask that she's got a slight headache and wishes to sleep in. It's quite likely to be true, in any case."

* * *

 _Several minutes later  
The Queen's Apartment Wing  
Eirian House_

They'd all gone their separate ways, for once the ritual had ended and they'd stayed around long enough to ensure that the Queen would be all right, the exhaustion from the night's work had set in, and no one had wished to linger when there were empty beds awaiting them and far too few hours remaining before daybreak. None, that is, aside from James, who'd ventured no further from the Royal Apartment's door than a few feet down the hall and around the first corner.

Within ten minutes - fifteen at the latest - he heard that door open quietly once more. Soft footfalls approached the corner. He leaned against the entrance door to Heather's rooms, waiting.

She turned the corner to find him there, her weary blue eyes staring at him in confusion. "Wait, I thought . . . Isn't this my room?"

"Yes." He made no move to leave.

Confusion turned to annoyance. "Then would you please move? It's bloody late, Lord Arilan!"

"No. Not until you tell me what the hell that was about in there." James kept his voice low, controlled, with nothing but the stoniness of his expression to convey his barely leashed anger.

"James, please, whatever this is about, I'm sure it can wait." Her expression was a mixture of exasperation and pleading, which normally he would have conceded to, but on this occasion it left him unmoved.

"I don't think it can, Heather. If I were to walk away right now and leave this for the morning, I'm fairly sure you'd find some way to avoid me tomorrow. Or the day after, or after that, until you're sure I've given up trying to pin you down and will let the matter drop. So no. I want to know what the hell you thought you were playing at in there tonight, and I want to know right now."

"Well, I'm not going to discuss anything with you right now, sir," Heather replied with a dangerous gleam in her eyes. "My daughter is asleep in there; this is neither the place nor the time."

"Neither was the set-up for an empowerment ritual, during which I needed to be fully focused on what I was doing to ensure Her Majesty's safety, _quite_ the 'place and time' for you to be throwing me off balance by flinging your nasty little quip in my face," James retorted heatedly. "I'll ask you again, what was that about?"

Heather's eyes slid away as her cheeks turned pink. "I just . . . Her Majesty was nervous. I was just trying to lighten the mood."

James was skeptical, recognizing that while there was some truth to her statement, she was still being evasive. "At my expense?"

Her blush deepened. "I suppose so. All right, yes. I'm sorry. Now can I get some sleep?"

"I think not." At her look of angry incredulity, he added, "What I want to know is _why._ Since practically our first meeting, I've been getting mixed signals from you. One moment you're reeling me in; the next, you're holding me at arm's length or outright shoving me away. I thought for a short while, after that drive over from Tre-Arilan, that maybe there might be something developing between us that could be worth exploring, but now I'm really not so sure. _Are_ you interested in me or aren't you? If not, just tell me to bugger off and I'll leave you alone. Or hell, just say 'No.' It's a short word, not really that hard."

The anger faded from her eyes, replaced by a stunned look. She looked away again, blinking rapidly. "Oh God, James, I'm sorry. You're right, I probably have been sending mixed signals, but . . . I just can't. Part of me wants to, but . . . ."

"But what? You just can't what?" His voice was gentler now, though no less insistent as he attempted to understand.

Heather sniffed, attempting to reach for the doorknob, unwilling to meet his eyes. "Please, James! Aderyn's asleep."

He gave a humorless snort. "Of course she is. Hell, Heather, as strong as that sedative was that you gave HM tonight, your sleep spell will probably have your child sleeping clear through to the New Year." He relented enough to open the door for her, following her into the small apartment, which was little more than a small seating area followed by a single bedroom with an adjoining bath. Beyond the open door to the bedroom, he saw Aderyn sound asleep.

James leaned against the door, his arms crossed over his chest. "I'll wait while you check on her." He watched as Heather entered the other room, laying a hand lightly over her daughter's forehead briefly before stepping back and tucking a blanket more firmly around her, then returning to face him.

"She's all right?" James asked.

"Yes." Heather closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath as if to fortify herself before opening them again. "James, I am truly sorry for the remark I made earlier tonight. You're right, it was uncalled for. But I can't get involved with you." Despite a visible effort at control, tears sprang into her eyes.

"All right."

"It's nothing personal . . . ." she began.

"It feels pretty damn personal from where I'm standing, but I'll respect your wishes." He turned to leave.

"No, wait!"

He turned back to see Heather with her fingers pressed against her lips, staring uncertainly up at him. He decided to give it one more try. "If it's nothing personal, then what's the problem?"

"It's just . . . ." She looked back over her shoulder at her sleeping child before turning back to him, her face filled with frustration and despair. "You're right, I _am_ attracted to you, but it would never work between us. You're too much like him - so handsome and charming, and . . .Oh God, you even look a little like him! I can't help but respond to you, but once you decide it's time to move on from me . . . ." She hugged herself tightly. "I'm so sorry, James, but I just can't let myself in for that much pain again."

He stepped forward, gently tilting her chin up with a fingertip. "Tell me, does your daughter's sperm donor have a name? Because I'd really like to know whose lights to punch out should we ever chance to meet."

She gave a watery laugh. He responded with a rueful smile. "I'm sorry too." Lifting her hand to his lips, he tightened his shields around the sharp burst of unexpected pain deep within himself and brushed a light kiss across her fingers as he turned to go.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

 _Mid-morning  
Eirian House  
The Queen's Apartment  
December 23, 2021_

"How do you feel?" Jen asked once she looked up from her biography of King Javan II and realized the Queen was awake.

Sophia pondered the question. "A little headachy, but otherwise all right, I suppose." She sat up in bed and stretched experimentally. "You?"

"I'm fine, but then again I really didn't do very much last night except watch. Eilonwy is still asleep, I think." Jen bookmarked her chapter. "Would you like for me to see about that headache? And what about some breakfast?"

"Yes to both." Sophia swung her legs over the side of the bed, a faint frown on her face. "My memories of the ritual last night are really vague from pretty much the moment I drank whatever was in that wine. Can you show me what you saw?"

"Sure, no problem." Jen stood, taking Sophia's offered hand briefly as she sent her memories of the previous night's working in a quick burst of shared memory, then laying a hand on the Queen's forehead, she used a soothing spell to alleviate her headache as well. "Full breakfast, or just something light?"

"Just something light for now," Sophia answered absently as she absorbed the new information. "Maybe some coffee and toast with jam. I'm not sure how a heavier breakfast would sit on my stomach right now; I think the sedation has mostly worn off but I still feel not quite myself yet. Or maybe that's a normal side effect of the ritual?" She shrugged. "Given how my body reacted to the power assumption, no wonder you were all hovering over me like a flock of hungry crows when I finally woke up!"

Jen smiled. "Yes, you had us all a little freaked out for a short while there."

Sophia blushed as another memory surfaced. "Did I really tell Father Devlin to stop being handsome, or did I just dream that?"

"Yes, I'm afraid you did say that. We all heard you. He blushes adorably, by the way. Don't worry, though, His Grace and Healer O'Flynn assured him you were still quite under the influence."

The Queen groaned, falling back onto the pillow briefly, then pulling it out from under her head only to cover her face with it. "Maybe make that two coffees. And a hairshirt."

Jen laughed. "Yes, Ma'am."

* * *

 _Late morning  
The Queen's Apartment  
Eirian House  
December 23, 2021_

Two coffees later, fully dressed and feeling somewhat more human, the Queen polished off the last of the toast and handed the plate back to Jen as she opened the personnel file Jen had brought up with her along with the breakfast.

"The Lord Chamberlain said this is the short file, narrowed down to his personal recommendations for replacement staff, although if you wish to see the full list he can bring that up later," Jen told her as she rinsed off the plate and left it in the suite's small kitchenette.

"I'm sure this will be fine; I trust his judgment," Sophia said as she glanced through the name lists. A small sheaf of personnel documents appeared beneath these. She went back to the top of the pile to give the documents a closer read. "Let's see here . . . replacement armsmen, so I can have a full complement again and Henry and Michael can finally both get full nights of decent sleep without needing to take turns. I'm sure they'll be glad of that. Additional ladies-in-waiting, so we can set up a rota and you two won't have to keep living in my back pocket constantly anymore - not that I wouldn't enjoy having you and Eilonwy around every day, rather than just a week out of every month, but I'm sure Mr Adams might actually want his wife back at some point."

"Patrick would probably appreciate that, yes."

" _And_ a short list of people Lord Culdi thinks would be most suitable to serve as my private secretary. I recognize a few of these names, I think. Hm . . . ." She paused over one name, flipping through the file to pull up that woman's personnel document. "Diana Layton. She was the Princess of Meara's private secretary." The thought of her late sister-in-law's tragic demise in the Castle bombing caused a wave of sorrow. "I wonder if she is still in Ratharkin? Morgan might know. Of course, I'm not sure if coming to work here would be more healing for her or hurtful - it may bring up memories for her she'd feel best left in the past. Still, I don't suppose it would hurt to call her in for an interview. She seemed competent enough, in my previous dealings with her."

"Should I contact her to set something up?" Jen asked.

"No need, Lord Culdi will handle that," Sophia assured her. "Let me see if I can get this list narrowed down for him, then we'll leave it to him to sort the fine details."

* * *

 _Late morning  
Tre-Arilan  
The dining room  
December 23, 2021_

"I'm sorry to call another meeting so soon after our last one," Lord Arilan told the other members of the Camberian Council gathered around his table, "but once you hear what I've got to report, I think you'll be glad that I did. I would have requested an evening meeting, since I know that's more convenient for Alicia, but this was when Dev and I could slip away for a few hours without being particularly missed."

"No worries, I think most of us have fairly flexible schedules," said Peter.

"Except for me, but I'm on holiday leave right now," Alicia added, "though thank you for considering my usual work schedule. Finding excuses to absent myself for morning meetings recently has been a right pain. Can we go back to quarterly meetings now that the immediate crisis has passed?"

"Let's play that by ear over the next couple of weeks, though I think we should be able to resume our regular schedule soon," Peter affirmed. "Meeting this often is a bit wearing, I agree, though for the moment it's necessary. So, James, why have you called us all here this morning?"

"A couple of items of business. First off, Father Devlin and I had the privilege last night of assisting the Duke of Corwyn and Eilonwy Adams in empowering the Queen with her Haldane powers. Not only were we successful, but judging by how strong her response was to the influx of energies, I would say she is going to be quite a formidable Haldane Sovereign once she learns how to access her powers and put them to full use." James smiled in deep satisfaction. "Lady Violet, I must say, you have excellent genes."

"Why, thank you!" the elderly councilor purred, returning his smile. "Is the dear girl feeling all right this morning?"

"I haven't spoken with her this morning, but I haven't heard otherwise," James said.

"I spoke with Dr DeLisle briefly about an hour ago," Father Devlin added, "and she says HM is up and about the day's business with no lingering effects from last night's ritual aside from a mild headache, which she was able to assist with."

"Excellent!" Peter said. "That's wonderful news, not to mention one less worry. She'll be at least as strong as Nigel, then?"

"Probably stronger, I would guess," Father Devlin said. "I wasn't expecting such an extreme reaction to the empowerment. For a moment, I was half afraid we'd killed her! Gave me a bad turn, I must say."

"Probably just as well you didn't," Elspeth observed. "Monarchy might be a silly institution in this day and age, but all the same, I wouldn't want to be in the position of having to explain to the Great and Privy Councils that you'd managed to burn out their Queen. How would that go? 'Oops, we tried to charge her up, but she shorted out, sorry!'"

"Elspeth, really! Some respect for the fact that you're referring to my daughter, at the very least, even if you can't manage to summon up any for the monarchy!" Violet protested.

"Ladies, enough!" Peter warned with an admonishing look at Elspeth. "So that's the first of two items of business I believe you mentioned, James. What was the second?"

"Ah, yes. The O'Malley matter. I've been digging through his financial records, and turned up a large payment entered into a trust fund set up for Colin O'Malley the evening before the Rhemuth Castle attack. Two-hundred and fifty thousand royals, to be precise. The transfer originated from an account in the Carib Islands. I'm still working on hacking into that account to see if a trail might be traced back to some other account, but the owner of the account is listed as 'Eric Harvey.'"

"Isn't 'Harvey' one of Eric Armitage's middle names?" Maureen observed.

"Indeed it is," James confirmed.

"That would fit in neatly with Colin's memories of Eric Armitage being one of three men responsible for his kidnapping," Peter said, "although the idea that Armitage presumably bribed O'Malley to blow up the Royal Family with a large payment into his son's trust fund, then held the boy as a hostage to ensure O'Malley would accept the bribe is evil enough. Not holding up to his end of the deal after O'Malley's death and leaving the boy buried once the job was done elevates the arrangement to the truly diabolical. I wonder what his plan was for getting those funds back, because surely he had one? I'd love to get my hands on Eric Armitage."

"Who was set up as Colin's beneficiary if he didn't live to inherit his trust fund?" Alicia asked. "His mother?"

"No," James said, "Lloyd O'Malley and Colin's mother divorced three years ago. His alternate beneficiary was a woman named Eleanor Benefield."

"Hm. That might solve the puzzle," Alicia said. "Does she live in Marley?"

"Yes. Apparently she was romantically involved with Lloyd O'Malley at the time of his death. The police considered her a person of interest in Colin's disappearance early on, but she seemed to have no idea where he was or what might have happened to him even when questioned under Truth-Reading, so they let her go. Why, do you know who she is? Would there be any reason to suspect her?"

Alicia shrugged. "She might not have been directly involved. But if she's the same Eleanor Benefield of Marley that I'm thinking of, she's fairly high up in the Humanity Ascendant chapter there. So if she was Colin's beneficiary, a transfer into his trust fund would effectively be a delayed transfer to one of Eric Armitage's more highly placed activist friends. Not such a loss after all, looked at that way. More like what he'd consider a charitable contribution. She may have been instructed to get close to O'Malley without being given any specifics of the plan; that would make sense if Armitage and his other cronies were planning a crime that would put her in a position to be suspected and Truth-Read."

"All right, so I'll definitely want to follow up on that," said James, jotting down some notes.

"Right," said Peter. "And terrorist plots remind me, I believe Maureen has something she wishes to add as well. Maureen?"

"Thank you, Peter." Maureen smiled at him. "I spoke with my son-in-law this morning, and he has informed me that our Council Chamber should be safe for us to move our meetings back into now, at least once our Portal security systems have been upgraded. Lord Arilan, Peter and I are quite impressed by what you and Mr Carbury have done to secure Tre-Arilan. Might we enlist your help in making those changes? It's gracious of you to offer your hospitality for these meetings for the time being, but we'd hate to continue imposing on you."

"Certainly I'd be glad to help," James said. "And while it's no imposition, I'd hate to see us abandon the original Council chamber. Not simply due to its history; it's also a much better hidden location, despite the Portal security issue."

"Wait," said Elspeth, "how do we know it's still a secret location? If Mrs Whitfield managed to discover the Portal signature in Tom's mind, who knows what else she found out, or might have shared with someone else? Do we really want to take that chance?"

"Whatever else she might have gleaned from his mind," Alicia assured her, "the physical location of the Council chamber was not there for her to discover. Tom had no idea where it actually is. For that matter, do any of us actually know?" She glanced around the room, but if anyone else there was more enlightened on the matter than she was, they gave no sign. "Karim has sifted through her mind repeatedly, and so has Healer O'Flynn, and all that Caroline Whitfield knew of the chamber's whereabouts was how to get there via the Portal. So even if she managed to share that information before she was captured, if we secure the Portal there to the degree that Tre-Arilan's is protected, I see no problem with returning there."

"All right, let's take a closer look at that during our next meeting. That will give James and Carbury time to put together a list of suggested improvements for us to implement. I also have a matter of business I would like for you all to consider before that next meeting - which of our number each of you thinks would be best suited to replace Tom as coadjutor, since it appears he will be unable to resume that duty anytime soon, if ever." He looked around the table. "Anything else?"

"Yes," said Devlin with a glance at Alicia. "You may be getting a call from Eirian House soon, if you haven't already. HM would like to know for certain who her birth mother is. Eilonwy is supposed to get in touch with you, though as busy as things have been on our end lately, she might not have had a chance to yet. I thought you might want to be forewarned - and Lady Violet as well, since I imagine she will wish to see you also once her suspicions have been confirmed."

"Thank you," Alicia said. "I appreciate the warning. Lady Violet, are you prepared to meet your daughter, or should I ignore my calls for the next day or two? I don't suppose I can put off returning them forever, but if you need a little more time . . . ."

"No need," Violet said. "I would be glad to meet with Her Majesty, should she wish to see me. I have missed the dear girl." A wistful expression crossed her face for just an instant. "And speaking of the Queen, I realize she's still in the early days of mourning yet, but her hold on the throne is hardly secure. She needs to be reminded that Gwynedd is in need of an heir. Not just Morgan Haldane either, but an heir of her body. I have nothing against the Duke of Corwyn as a person, but intermarrying the two legitimate Haldane lines would create the sort of vulnerability in the succession that we don't need, with the likes of the Atherton-Haldanes about looking to press a claim even though they haven't one."

"It's a little early for anyone to be bringing up the topic of marriage to her, surely!" Devlin protested, feeling a twinge of conscience as he wondered to himself if his strong feelings on the subject stemmed merely from his concern for Sophia's emotional well-being or if he needed to take a closer look at his own motivations. "We've not even had her family's funeral yet, and you already want to push her into wedding?"

"She is not just any girl, Father Devlin, she is a Haldane!" Violet snapped. "Do not think that I am insensible to her grief, but she was bred to duty, just as her father was. Nigel would have wanted the Kingdom's needs to come first."

"She _is_ our Queen, but she is also a very vulnerable young woman right now, and one who has experienced a greater trauma than most Haldanes have had to face when first coming into their duties as a sovereign. If you want her to bend rather than break under the strain, then I would strongly suggest allowing her enough time to at least find her feet again before starting in on her with talk about marriage arrangements and heirs!" Devlin shot back. "Sweet Saint Camber, woman, she's not an emotionless puppet!"

"Nor was Nigel," Violet retorted.

Devlin leaned across the table towards her, gripping the edge of it so forcefully his knuckles turned white. " _She_ is not _Nigel."_

Peter held up a hand, silencing the argument with a stern glance at both participants. Once they'd both subsided, he continued mildly, "I agree with Father Devlin that this is not the time to bring the matter up to Her Majesty, yet I also agree with Lady Violet that it is not too soon for us to be thinking of possible candidates we might bring up to the Queen's attention once she is more ready to consider such matters. Securing the succession _is_ a matter of extreme importance, but it's not one likely to be settled at a moment's notice in any case. And I'm fairly sure the Queen herself would want to weigh in on the matter; after all, _she_ is the one who will end up having to live with the choice." He looked around the table. "Aside from Morgan Haldane, who I think we all agree would not be the optimal choice, does anyone here have any suggestions for who might make a suitable Prince Consort to draw HM's attention to once she's had a bit more time to heal?"

"Oh God, here we go! Sophia the Royal Brood Mare!" Elspeth complained, rolling her eyes. "Am I actually agreeing with Devlin on something? Has everyone else here forgotten that a woman is a person, not just a life support system for a uterus?"

"We haven't forgotten," Maureen said softly. "Though I suspect the Queen herself would agree that given the choice of marrying for heirs or putting it off too long at the risk of leaving Gwynedd vulnerable to the Camberian claimants, a marriage arranged more quickly than not might be the lesser of those two evils. And I don't think anyone here is suggesting pushing her into a marriage against her will." She laughed. "I've met the lass; trust me, that will _not_ happen! She's a Haldane. Inside that velvet glove is an iron fist. When she marries, it will be to a man of her choice, but there's nothing wrong with coming up with ideas for a suitable match to introduce her to."

"I would suggest," said Lady Violet, warming up to the topic, "that we begin by looking for suitable consorts who are known to be full Deryni. Gwynedd has been without a strong power on the throne for far too long. I am happy to hear that Sophia appears to have the potential to make a formidable Queen, now let us not suggest a marriage for her that would threaten to diminish the potential of her heirs." She looked around the table at her fellow Councilors. "I see two extremely eligible young men in this very room. Lord Arilan, for one, has all the training and ancient Deryni bloodline that one might desire in such a match. He might not be a Duke nor yet an Earl, regrettably, though at least he is of noble blood. And Father Devlin is just as equally well suited, in my opinion. If anything, even more so."

 _"_ _Me?"_ Devlin protested. "I'm hardly nobility!"

"On the contrary, you're of the ancient Llyrian Royal House of O'Shiele, are you not?" Violet raised an imperious eyebrow at him.

"Only distantly, and along a junior branch!"

"Not so very distantly. As I recall, you're no less distantly related to the O'Shiele High Lord who was your forebear than Morgan Haldane is in his line of descent from Alaric the Third."

"Maybe not, but I'm descended from one of his sons, not a daughter. And remember that Llyrian inheritance is matrilineal."

"True, but that son married a Gwyneddan woman, and _Gwyneddan_ inheritance is patrilineal. Besides which, the finer points of inheritance are immaterial in this case; we're discussing your suitability as a Prince Consort, not as Ard-Tiarna of Llyr. Royal blood is royal blood, whether it's inherited from the spear side or the distaff side of the family. And not just _any_ royal blood either, but an ancient Deryni line." Violet smiled in triumph.

Devlin looked to James for assistance, but James was looking elsewhere, steadfastly refusing to cooperate, one hand cupped over his mouth and chin in thought or perhaps just to conceal a smirk. _Fine. Throw me under the bus, mate._ "Lady Violet, what you don't seem to grasp is that the subject is never likely to come up! I am not a son of the _current_ High Lord of Llyr, and any distant ancestral ties to that House notwithstanding, I am hardly going to attract the interest of a reigning Queen. What Queen in her right mind is going to give a mere associate priest from an urban mission parish a second glance?"

"She thinks you're handsome," James offered, not bothering to conceal his amusement anymore.

"Bloody hell, man, not helpful!" As everyone else at the table burst into laughter at his outburst, Devlin took a deep centering breath, gathering the ends of his frayed patience. "Seriously, how would the topic even come up? I'm not going to go back to Eirian House and say, 'Pardon me, Ma'am, but your mother thinks I'm a prime candidate for the Royal Stud, so how about it, shall we?' I think not!"

"No one is asking you to do that, my dear boy," Violet assured him with a fond, maternal smile. "She's a Queen Regnant; it's _her_ job to propose to her future consort. It's simply _our_ job to ensure she is aware of the most suitable choices available to her." She beamed at Devlin. " _All_ of them, whether they think they're qualified or not."

* * *

 _Afternoon  
Eirian House  
December 23, 2021_

Devlin's attempt to return to Eirian House as discreetly as he'd left was foiled by the Portal security guard, who intercepted him with a message from the Queen. "Her Majesty has requested that you attend her upon your return. She was in the Royal Conservatory as of an hour ago; if she's not still there, try her personal chambers."

Still disconcerted from the Camberian Council meeting he'd just left, he glanced down at his casual attire of black jeans and a blue hooded pullover, although the addition of his standard black clerical shirt and collar beneath the warmer layer made him at least somewhat presentable. "Did she happen to say why she needs me? Do I need to go directly, or should I change first?"

"I don't know, Father. I was just told to direct you to the Conservatory if I should happen to see you."

"Thank you." Worried now that perhaps the empowerment ritual had stirred up something deep within the Queen that she was now having trouble dealing with, Devlin quickened his pace as he left the Portal Room and exited the Palace to turn down the cloistered walk leading to the Conservatory.

Entering the enclosed courtyard garden in a rush, he was relieved to discover Her Majesty in what appeared to be a more pensive than troubled state. She appeared to be alone, although Devlin could sense the presence of one of her armsman keeping a discreet guard nearby. Michael, from the feel of him. On the table in front of her was a legal pad, on which she was diligently writing. Given that the Queen was wearing faded jeans and an oversized "University of Rhemuth" sweatshirt, he felt less underdressed for the occasion.

Sophia looked up at his arrival. "Good afternoon, Father. I hope you were able to sleep in at least a little bit before attending to your personal business?" She gestured to a chair at the small table where she sat surrounded by the lush greenery that thrived in the warm Conservatory year-round. Noticing his perusal of their surroundings, she added, "I'm tired of winter already, and it's just barely arrived. I'm ready for spring to get here."

"Aren't we all?" Devlin sat, feeling unaccountably self-conscious. No, not unaccountably. He knew the exact reason for his awkwardness, damn the Council!

Sophia must have sensed something of his discomfort, despite his tight shielding, for her cheeks turned pink. With a laugh, she added, "You needn't worry, Father, I'm quite sober and fully in control of my actions now, so I shan't embarrass you by blurting out whatever random thought should happen to go flitting through my drug-addled head at a given moment." She smiled, although she avoided looking directly at him, looking if anything as self-conscious as he felt. Somehow the realization that she also felt off balance helped to put him more at ease. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and turned her legal pad to show him what she'd been working on before his arrival. "It's my Christmas broadcast, or at least a draft of it. I imagine I ought to carry on the tradition."

He bent his head over the speech in progress, reading the words written in Sophia's flowing script.

 _Each Christmas at this time, my beloved mother broadcast a message to her people in all parts of the Kingdom, as did my grandfather before her. Today I am taking on this legacy, taking a few moments during this Christmas season to reach out to you who are now my people._

 _At Christmas our thoughts are always full of our homes and our families, and while I grieve for the family and home I have lost this Christmas season, I take comfort in knowing that you, my people, are now my larger family and my support during this difficult time._

 _My mother, and my grandfather before her, worked all their lives to unite our peoples - human and Deryni - ever more closely. I shall strive to carry on their work._

 _Already you have given me strength to do so. For since my accession this past week, your loyalty and affection have been an immense support and encouragement. I want to take this Christmas Day to thank you with all my heart._

 _Many grave problems and difficulties confront us all, but with a new faith in the old and splendid beliefs given us by our forefathers, and the strength to venture beyond the safeties of the past, I know we shall be worthy of our duty._

 _Above all, we must keep alive that courageous spirit of adventure that is the finest quality of youth; and by youth I do not just mean those who are young in years; I mean too all those who are young in heart, no matter how old they may be. That spirit still flourishes in this ancient Kingdom._

 _On this broad foundation let us set out to build a truer knowledge of ourselves and our fellowmen, to work for tolerance and understanding among the nations._

 _If we can do these things with courage, with generosity and with humility, then surely we shall achieve that "Peace on earth, Goodwill toward men" which is the eternal message of Christmas, and the desire of us all._

 _At my Coronation next June, I shall dedicate myself anew to your service. I shall do so in the presence of a great congregation, drawn from every corner of the Kingdom, while millions outside Saint George's Cathedral will hear the promises and the prayers being offered up within its walls, and see much of the ancient ceremony in which Kings and Queens before me have taken part through century upon century._

 _You will be keeping it as a holiday; but I want to ask you all, whatever your religion may be, to pray for me on that day - to pray that God may give me wisdom and strength to carry out the solemn promises I shall be making, and that I may faithfully serve Him and you all the days of my life._

 _May God bless and guide you all through the coming year._

As he finished reading, he looked up to find Sophia watching him, her expression putting him in mind of a schoolgirl hoping for the teacher's approval. She smiled shyly, explaining "I've done the occasional speech for grand openings and charity functions, and I'm certainly no stranger to public speaking - God knows one couldn't grow up in _my_ family and not be accustomed to _that!_ \- but somehow this feels different. I'm not really used to addressing the entire Kingdom in one go, yet. I don't want to get it wrong."

"I think it looks good, Ma'am."

"Do you really think so?" She sighed, rereading her own text. "I suppose it's fine - at least I think it's as good as they're going to get from me this year, as distractible as I am right now." She gazed off into the near distance at nothing in particular, shaking her head. "I didn't exactly train for this, you know. Being Queen, I mean."

"I know." He gave her a sympathetic smile.

She glanced down at the page. "I realize Araxelle isn't really my mother, but I can hardly acknowledge that publicly. The Kingdom doesn't need any more upheaval right now. Still . . . ." She looked up at him. "Is it wrong of me to continue the deception?"

He felt his way through the question carefully. "I do think it's necessary to keep the Kingdom's best interests at heart. Tell me this - deep down, even knowing what you know now, do you still think of Araxelle as your mother?"

Sophia nodded. "Yes, I guess I do. My feelings about her haven't changed."

"Even though she didn't give birth to you, did she love you and provide for you to the best of her ability? In every other way besides biological descent, would you'd say Araxelle was a true mother to you?"

"Yes. I suppose it's clearer to me, when you put it that way. In a way, I guess it's like being an adopted child, except that the adoption wasn't actually formalized and I'm really a Haldane." She rested an elbow on the table, propping her forehead on her hand as she studied the page, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. "I miss her, Father. There was so much that I just took for granted. I just wish . . . ." She swallowed. "I wish we'd had more time, though I suppose in a way there's never such thing as enough time, is there?"

"No, I don't suppose there is."

"The hardest thing is that I never had a proper chance to say goodbye."

Devlin nodded. "Yes, that one's hard." A thought struck him, and he reached a hand over to flip the pages up to the next blank sheet. "So perhaps you could do that now."

She looked up, startled. "Sorry?"

He nodded down at the empty page before her. "Write her a letter. You're not going to mail it, of course, but just get the words out."

"And then what?"

"And then," he said, "you'll figure out what to do next once you get there."


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-One**

 _Late afternoon  
Eirian House  
December 23, 2021_

"I need to go back to Coroth for a brief visit," Morgan informed the Queen in private. "There are some matters I need to attend to there, but I can plan on being back by Christmas Day."

"Yes, I'd like that, if you could be here then," Sophia said. "It's going to be a difficult day, I imagine, trying to get through it without the rest of the family here. I'm really trying not to think about it at all, though I suppose it will be difficult to avoid doing so altogether, with everyone else celebrating the holiday." She sighed. "I had a present for you, but it was at Rhemuth . . . ."

Her cousin enfolded her in a comforting embrace, kissing the top of her head. "You're all the present I need." Releasing her, he added with a grin, "Though if you're stuck for gift ideas next year, I can give you a wish list . . . ."

"Don't push your luck, cousin." Sophia gave him a playful shove.

"There's also the Caroline Whitfield matter that needs resolving. After the holiday, might I borrow Healer O'Flynn for a few days? Or I could bring Mrs Whitfield here, but I'm still not entirely convinced she's not a security risk, and Coroth is better equipped at the moment to hold her securely."

"What about Mr Whitfield? He's still at Tre-Arilan, isn't he?"

"Yes. Healer Dr Al-Sayid has been working on his rehabilitation from there. Mr Whitfield really ought to be in hospital or at a rehabilitation facility that could devote more one-on-one time to his care, but that could lead to too many questions asked from official quarters as to how he came to be in his condition in the first place, the nature of and purpose for the attack, and other things that might bring the Camberian Council under too close scrutiny, and he's self-aware enough now to have requested not to be transferred to a facility where this all becomes a matter for official record. I think he's leery enough about the two of _us_ knowing the Council actually exists."

"I can understand his desire to keep the Council's existence as unconfirmed as possible, but all the same, I think _I_ shall wish to keep a close eye on them from here on out. Not that I have any reason to believe I don't have their good will, but I don't like the notion of some secret Deryni organization keeping track of Deryni-related matters within my Kingdom and influencing matters as they see fit without some means of keeping up with what they are doing. There could conceivably be a conflict of interests at some point."

"I agree," said Morgan. "I wonder what the chances are of a Haldane getting a seat on the Council?"

Sophia chuckled. "Why, are you volunteering? Shall I let Lord Arilan know?"

"Not really, unless that's your wish. I was thinking about you, actually."

She laughed outright. "Why me? Being Queen won't give me enough to do with my time?"

Morgan shrugged. "Not that I seriously think it would happen, but my understanding is that Council members are sworn to secrecy about Council dealings, so if I were to sit on the Council, there might prove to be a conflict of interest between my loyalty to them and my loyalty to you. I don't think either of us wants that. If you were on the Council, on the other hand, you would have first-hand knowledge of their dealings, not to mention a direct influence on their decision-making. _They_ might not want that, but from where I sit that wouldn't be a bad thing."

"I see your point. Though as you say, the situation is unlikely to arise, more's the pity."

"You could make it arise. They do owe you a rather large favor, after all."

Sophia sighed. "I'll have to think on that a bit. I may have need to cash in on that favor in some other way, down the road, and if I were simply to railroad my way onto the Council, I can see that having some unwanted repercussions. No, I think it might be best to wait a bit and see how things play out in the next few weeks and months. If it seems like it might be best to play some more direct role in steering their activities then, then maybe some opportunity to more indirectly steer their thinking in that direction might arise." She sighed. "I wish Kelric were here to deal with the problem and not me. He thrived on that sort of politics. I'd rather just avoid them entirely."

"Me too, though we don't always have that luxury."

"True." Sophia shook her head. "Enough of that. How is Coroth Castle celebrating Christmas this year? Are you putting on a big display like you used to do?"

"With the 'Lighting of the Towers' and such? Yes, it's traditional. I haven't had much of a role in it all this year; my steward's been handling most of that, what with me needed here so much at present."

"I'm sure Jen would love to see that."

"Well, it should be up until Twelfth Night at least, so maybe sometime between Christmas and the New Year I can bring her over to have a look. I've promised her a tour of Coroth Castle anyway, so she can drool on my Alaric Morgan memorabilia collection. Dragging her back here afterwards might be the problem."

"Not really; I'll just dangle old artifacts in front of her until she takes the bait. That usually does the trick." The Queen grinned. "I'm sure I've probably got a letter opener or a boot wipe or some such around here that once belonged to Kelson the Great. That should give her palpitations for days."

"I could offer her the chance to test drive the Darkling Duke's carved oakwood canopy bed with me and see what that does for her heart rate," said Morgan, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Behave, you!"

He laughed. "I'm just joking."

"I know you are. Besides which, I've _seen_ Alaric Morgan's fabulously appointed Ducal bed, and while it's a lovely example of early twelfth-century woodworking and embroidered bed linens, as I recall it's currently the centerpiece of the downtown Coroth City Museum. Hardly a private location for working your wicked wiles on her!"

"I'd love to see her face, though."

"So would I. Jen's done some study of Byzantine martial arts when she's not been distracted swotting up on medieval history, so you'd probably get cold-cocked. It would be difficult to carry on with the pretense of a seduction when you're flat on your back unconscious, though Eilonwy and I would have a good laugh. So let us know if you plan to trot out that line; I'll sell tickets and have Loni put on the popcorn."

* * *

 _Early morning, CST  
(Late afternoon, RST)  
A private home in Jorian Heights  
St. Michael's Province, Camberia  
Christmas Eve, 2021 (Dec. 23 in Gwynedd)_

"Good morning, Your Grace," Malcolm Atherton's caller greeted him. "I'm sorry for this pre-dawn call, but I thought you might wish to get a Christmas present early, and you _did_ say to call you at any time if the news was important." The caller sounded smugly self-satisfied.

Malcolm sat up in bed. The younger of his two wives murmured something sleepily, but a brief touch of her forehead accompanied by a psychic suggestion sent her back into deep slumber. "Yes, what is it?" he asked.

"You asked for your operatives to check around at various Gwyneddan hospitals to see if we could track down The Viper's current whereabouts. I have discovered some information that might be connected, though you might know better than I would, but even if it's not, I deemed it of sufficient interest that it should be brought to your attention immediately."

A surge of adrenaline coursed through Malcolm, dispelling the last vestiges of sleepiness. _The Viper_ was the code name he'd given his Gwyneddan sleepers for Alisandra. They had been directed to begin a discreet search for her within that kingdom's medical system, since he had reasoned that she would have attempted to contact him long before now unless she were either incapacitated or dead. A dead operative, he could do little about, but an injured one might be worth the effort to retrieve and rehabilitate, at least one as valuable to him as Alisandra.

"What have you found?" Malcolm asked. "And which of my agents is this?"

"Gregory Torrence at your service, sir. Here is what I've learned, although only you can say for sure how useful the information is or not. On the afternoon of 17 December, just a few minutes after noon, several patients were secretly admitted to the Royal Hospital Rhemuth by means of an emergency Portal that is in a location of the hospital not accessible to the general public. These patients were the victims of an acrinious gas attack. Three Healers responded to the crisis. Their names are . . . . " There was the sound of pages turning. "Ah, yes. Healer Dr Karim al-Sayid, Healer Heather O'Flynn, and Healer Damien Turner. Healer Turner is my source for this information, by the way."

"Willing or unwilling?"

Torrence chuckled. "Oh, willing enough with a few beers in him, and once I was able to slip past his shields, I was able to glean a few extra details he didn't think to share. He has no idea how significant the information is, of course. But there's more, my lord."

"Yes?"

"From the descriptions of the patients, it doesn't appear that the Viper was among them, though that makes sense. I don't imagine she would have been careless enough to poison herself in her own gas attack. However, shortly after arrival at the RHR the patients had their initial symptoms stabilized before being transported to a second location. Healer Turner says they were most insistent that they did not wish their presence to be noted in any sort of official record."

"Interesting." Malcolm's heart raced. From the sound of things, these patients were almost certainly survivors of the Camberian Council attack. He felt a swift surge of annoyance - he'd thought the whole lot had been eliminated - but no matter. He would find some other time and way to deal with the Council soon enough. And it was possible that at least some of the Councilors had eventually succumbed to the toxin, especially if they'd been discharged from hospital care prematurely. "Did you find out where the second location is? And how many patients were there?"

"Six patients, my lord. They were discovered by Healer Dr Al-Sayid's girlfriend - her name is Lady Alicia Coris. Lady Alicia also secured the services of a detective inspector to assist with the rescue effort. Hang on, I have his name here too . . . yes, Adams. DI Patrick Adams. As to the location, Healer Turner was not given the Portal signature for that, more's the pity. However, he says that one of the patients made a suggestion of a place called Tre-Arilan, so they likely ended up there. Healer Dr al-Sayid and Healer O'Flynn have both made subsequent jumps to that location. The Portal they transported to is off-Registry and therefore a specific coordinate for it can't be identified. However, here is another interesting bit. Both Healer Dr al-Sayid and Healer O'Flynn received subsequent secondments for their services in two different locations, and both of those transfers _are_ a matter of official record. Healer Dr al-Sayid has been working on a part-time basis at Coroth Castle, and as for Healer O'Flynn, she has been transferred to Eirian House."

"Do you have names for the six patients?"

"No, my lord, although I did manage to Mind-See their faces when I was poking about in Turner's mind. Some of them look at least slightly familiar, though I will need to do more research to figure out who they were. Their names weren't entered into any official record, unfortunately."

"Continue looking into that, then. As for the secondments, what reason was given for those temporary transfers?"

More flipping of pages. "Healer O'Flynn was specifically requested by the Pretender Queen of Gwynedd to serve as a full-time Healer at Eirian House for an indefinite period of time until a permanent Healer-in-Residence can be secured."

That was bothersome. Coincidence, or was Sophia Haldane somehow involved with the Camberian Council? Malcolm tried to remember when the official announcement had been made that the Princess had survived the Castle bombing and was now Sophia the Second of Gwynedd. Had that been the same day as Alisandra's mission or the day before? He thought that announcement had happened very quickly, sometime on the day subsequent to the Castle bombing, and Alisandra had been sent on her mission the day after that. Had the Council been hiding the Queen of Gwynedd in their secret chamber? He fumed at the thought that Alisandra's unsuccessful attempt to kill off the Council might have also failed at eliminating Nigel Haldane's remaining heiress.

"Healer Dr al-Sayid's services were requested on a part-time basis for . . . let me find the official wording here . . . 'a guest of His Grace of Corwyn, temporarily in residence at Coroth Castle.'"

"Coroth." Malcolm's mind worked furiously. "And when was that secondment requested?"

"On the eighteenth of December, which would have been the morning after the patients were brought to the RHR with acrinious gas poisoning."

Malcolm nodded. "That could be significant. All right, I want you to scout out Coroth Castle and report back to me on which of Morgan Haldane's 'guests' is in need of a Healer's personal attention. Good job, man! Torrence, you said?"

"Yes, Your Grace. Gregory Torrence."

"You will be suitably rewarded."

"Thank you, my lord. Happy Christmas!"

"And a very happy Christmas to you as well. In Coroth, mind."

"I shall head there right away, my lord."

"Oh, and Torrence? Before you leave Rhemuth, make sure Healer Turner is taken care of once and for all. We wouldn't want anyone else to discover you've been poking around in his head, or what you've found."

"Yes, my lord."

* * *

 _Late afternoon  
Coroth Castle  
December 23, 2021_

"How is the patient?" Morgan asked Healer Dr Karim al-Sayid once he'd had a moment free from taking care of other ducal business.

"Caroline is starting to make a recovery and is beginning to integrate a few memories of her past from before she became Caroline Whitfield. The Alisandra personality is much more resistant to my attempts to integrate her, and certain aspects of it may end up needing to be eliminated for the safety of the patient, let alone society, although I'm still trying to save whatever is salvageable. Healer O'Flynn agrees that some of the mental mines Alisandra's creator planted deep within her psyche can't be disarmed without killing her - they were specifically created to be removal proof - so we've decided to counter that by barricading those areas off behind impermeable shields so that at least they can't be triggered from the outside anymore."

"Will that be safe?" Morgan asked.

"Not entirely, sir, but Caroline will at least be safer with those countermeasures in place than she is now, and we should be safer from Alisandra. Would you like to see her?"

The Duke raised a considering eyebrow. "Why not?" He followed the Healer to the secure room in Coroth's Keep where his high-security guest was housed. Two men in his household uniform stood at either side of the entrance. They snapped to attention as their Duke approached. He acknowledged them with a nod as they stepped to either side to let him pass. One guard palmed the touch lock, which read his aural signature. The latch clicked open, admitting the duke and the Healer.

Had Morgan not been aware of the mayhem his psychically-impaired guest had caused for the Camberian Council and what she had planned to do at Tre-Arilan, the security precautions surrounding her might have seemed like overkill. The blonde woman seated near the barred window hardly appeared to be a threat despite her trim, lithely athletic physique. Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, revealing exquisite bone structure. Her beauty was somewhat diminished by the blank expression in her sky-blue eyes which stared straight ahead, as if she was unaware of her surroundings or of their entry.

As Karim took a seat facing her, however, a flicker of response appeared in those eyes.

"Good afternoon, Caroline," the Healer told her.

There was a long pause punctuated by the flicker back and forth of those blue eyes, as if they were reading some invisible script hanging in the air before her, and then she spoke. "Is it afternoon?" She sounded only vaguely curious, as if most of her thoughts were far away, but some small part of herself which remained here and now had belatedly become aware that a statement had been made which required some response.

"It is afternoon, yes," Karim affirmed. "I've brought you a visitor. Do you know who this is, Caroline?"

The blonde swiveled her head slowly to study Morgan, tilting her head almost like a cautious owl before looking off in the distance again, her eyes making the back-and-forth shifting movement once more before she replied. "I do not. She does. She wants to kill him." Her voice was quietly matter-of-fact, chilling in its tonelessness.

Morgan glanced at Karim in question, but the Healer seemed to find nothing unusual in this statement. "Does she say why?" Karim asked.

The searchlight eyes again. "He hates Haldanes," she finally answered.

" _He_ does?" Karim asked. "Who hates Haldanes?"

A longer pause. "The man who made her. The man she loves."

"Can you say who that is?"

She shook her head, slowly at first then with increasing speed, until she clutched at either side of her head as if in pain. Karim made a soothing sound, capturing her attention to break her rhythm. She ceased, staring up at him.

"Do you know where you come from?"

"Yes."

Karim smiled, as if amused at himself for the badly phrased question. "Where do you come from?"

"Camberia."

"Where did you live in Camberia?"

"In a house."

"In whose house?"

"In his house."

"And how long did you live there?"

"Until we were two."

"And then what happened next?"

"I don't know. I slept."

"When did you wake up?"

"When I was in Gwynedd." A glimmer of confused awareness flickered briefly through her eyes. "Where is my husband? Where is Tom?"

* * *

 _Later that evening  
The Green Tower  
Coroth Castle_

"How do you manage to even make sense out of that rambling?" Morgan asked as he poured himself a glass of MacRorie Old and handed another glass to Karim.

"It's coming together in bits and pieces, although it takes a fair bit of time and patience," the Healer admitted. "And sometimes you have to check your preconceptions at the door; her answers don't always mean what she might seem to be saying on the surface of things. Take today's statements, for instance. What did you learn from them?"

Morgan sat, puzzling over the cryptic utterances they had heard earlier in the day. "I take it that was the Caroline personality answering the questions?"

"For the most part, yes."

The duke leaned against the back of the sofa, sipping at his whisky as he considered Caroline's answers to Karim's questions. "I got that she is still rather disoriented - she didn't realize it was afternoon. Apparently she is at least somewhat aware of the Alisandra personality now and has some of her knowledge, since she didn't know who I was at first, but she said that 'she' did and that 'she' wanted to kill me. I take it that 'she' is Alisandra?" Karim nodded in confirmation, and Morgan continued. "Alisandra wants to kill me because the man who tampered with their mind hates Haldanes. But I gather there's some sort of block preventing her from saying who that man is."

"Not just a block," Karim informed him. "Probing too close to that information can trip a Death Trigger. That's one of those areas we've had to shield off."

"Inconvenient, though I suppose not too surprising. Let's see . . . she's from Camberia, and she lived with her captor until she was two. No, wait, that can't be right - I thought she was older than that when she was kidnapped? The original Caroline, that is?"

"Yes, she was five years old at the time. Though what she actually said was that she lived in his house 'until we were two.' Until she and Alisandra became two separate entities, that is. That what I meant earlier by her answers not always meaning what you might assume at first listen."

"Hm." Morgan frowned. "And after that, she slept until she came to Gwynedd. What does that mean? That side of her personality went dormant?"

"Yes, I think that's the most likely explanation. From the time Alisandra emerged until the time adult Caroline was needed to become unwitting bait for Tom Whitfield, I think Caroline remained mostly dormant. Alisandra, on the other hand, would have required long years of grooming and training."

"But grooming and training by whom?" Morgan heaved a heavy sigh.

"Ah, but there I might have an answer from a most unexpected quarter." Karim reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a rolled up magazine, handing it to Morgan. "My lady love found this magazine in an import store. I assure you this is not Alicia's usual sort of purchase. Whatever possessed her to pick up this particular title, much less this issue, I have no idea - it's several years old - but take a look at the centerfold picture and caption."

Morgan raised an eyebrow at the cover photo and headline. "'Camberian Cuties'? Who knew Lady Alicia had such lowbrow tastes?" He began to flip through the pages. "Such edifying literature, Karim! I may need to confiscate this."

"In the interest of purely scientific curiosity?" Karim rolled his eyes expressively, taking the magazine from Morgan and flipping it open directly to the page in question. "Here. Look familiar?"

Morgan gave a low whistle which had less to do with the attractiveness of the nearly nude model than with his dawning realization that he was holding something much more significant than the average skin magazine. "Is this Alisandra or yet another personality?" he asked.

Karim shrugged. "I'm not entirely certain yet. I _think_ that is still Alisandra, but she used the name 'Shera Alexander' as a professional name during her modeling career. But I didn't just show you that so you could see what your house guest looks like with her kit off. Take a close look at that smaller photo in the lower right corner."

Morgan peered down at the candid shot of Shera/Alisandra dressed in a skin tight gown, her hand on the arm of a tuxedoed, distinguished-looking older man with silver hair. "He looks somewhat familiar," he mused. "Is that the man who created the monster?"

"I have no idea, although that man seems to have been linked quite closely with Shera Alexander in the public eye during her short-lived modeling career, so it seems a likely enough guess that her known paramour and her secret creator might be the same man. And as for his apparent familiarity, there's a reason for that," Karim told him. "Morgan Haldane, meet your distant cousin Malcolm Atherton-Haldane, heir-apparent to Camberia."

* * *

 _The same evening  
Eirian House  
The Queen's Receiving Room_

Lady Alicia Coris curtseyed in the presence of the Queen, who acknowledged the reverence with a polite nod and a firm handshake before offering her a seat. She gave her surroundings a quick, appreciative study. The Blue Room, as it was nicknamed by the palace staff, was one of the more informal receiving rooms at Eirian House, yet it was no less comfortably appointed for all that. The blue and gold decor reminded Alicia a bit of her parents' formal parlor at Marbury Hall, decorated in their Marley colors.

Eilonwy Adams offered her a choice of refreshments. Alicia, feeling slightly nervous in the royal presence, opted for a cup of soothing darja with mint. Eilonwy served her and the Queen before discreetly withdrawing to allow them greater privacy. After a few minutes of small talk that might have put Alicia more at ease if she were the sort of woman who felt comfortable engaging in that sort of thing, Her Majesty finally brought up the topic that was the reason for Alicia's visit.

"Eilonwy has informed me of my true parentage, at least on my father's side. What can you tell me about my biological mother?"

Here, Alicia felt more in her proper element. Opening the small notebook she'd brought with her, she flipped to the first page. "Well, Ma'am, when we look here at this section of your mitochondrial genome sequence . . . ."

* * *

 _Night  
A hotel room  
New Rhemuth, Americia  
December 23, 2021_

"Are we still on track for the New Year's Eve celebration?"

Eric Armitage smiled as he assured his caller that he was still committed to their upcoming plans. "Yes, I'm as ready to help the Deryni of Gwynedd enter the New Year with a bang as you are. Well, not with a _bang,_ exactly; we've already done that for you. But I promise you we will make the event memorable for all the right reasons instead of the wrong ones."

"Good, good! How many of your people have committed to our little venture?" asked Armitage's patron.

"The Rhemuth chapter should be there in full force," he replied, "as well as Humanity Ascendant supporters from most of the surrounding areas. I think there may be a few supporters coming in from the more outlying parts of the Kingdom as well, although with the Rhemuth city security still so tight, it might be more effective to hold those in reserve until the revolution gains greater traction. After all, there are Deryni throughout the Kingdom that will need to be dealt with, not just in the capital. So what about your folks? Are they good to go?"

"As ready as they'll ever be. A funeral seems an appropriate occasion for them to put in their appearance. Not to mention the timing. Out with the old . . . "

". . . And in with the new," Armitage replied. "I couldn't agree more. So wonderfully symbolic."

* * *

 _Minutes later  
A private home in Jorian Heights  
St. Michael's Province, Camberia_

Malcolm Atherton-Haldane thumbed the disconnect button on his phone. "Berk!" he muttered to himself, although without much heat, as the conversation with Armitage had been quite to his satisfaction.

Once again, the human supremacists would be in a position to do much of his work for him, becoming the more visible forces for his planned two-prong attack on the Haldane heiress. They would help to soften up any opposition, and once her defenses were made vulnerable, only then would he and his forces make their move.

Armitage didn't know exactly what he had planned, of course. The idiot thought he was paving the way for a Deryni-free Gwynedd, or at least a Kingdom in which Deryni power would be severely curtailed and controlled.

The enemy of his enemy was not exactly Malcolm's friend - Eric Armitage was certainly not _that,_ the fool! - yet he could be a useful tool. And once he was no longer useful to Malcolm, then he would be easily enough dispensed with. One thing Malcolm was counting on was that Armitage's hopes for an anti-Deryni revolution in Gwynedd would bring his lunatic followers out in full force, where Malcolm's own loyal sleepers could take note of their identities and pick them off at leisure once they'd served their purpose. Once Malcolm had attained his birthright, his own personal Kingdom to rule. Malcolm so looked forward to seeing Eric Armitage's face once he realized he'd been duped into helping to eliminate one set of Deryni rulers only to help another one gain a throne. He was saving a very special reward for Eric Armitage, yes indeed.

His one regret at the moment was that his lovely, deadly Alisandra had still not yet been located, although he was hopeful that the Corwyn lead might pan out. He would need a Queen, after all, and while he knew either of his wives would be happy to take on the role, perhaps it was time to reward her for her loyalty to him by taking her as his third wife. Or for that matter, he could divorce his first two; after all, his first wife was past her childbearing years now, and he hadn't bothered to visit her bed in ages, and as for his second wife, he was beginning to tire of her as well. They'd both done well enough by him, giving him potential heirs aplenty, a few of which had managed to survive their interfraternal struggles long enough to reach full adulthood or come close, so he wouldn't simply rid himself of the women, but he suspected they'd be content enough to be pensioned off as long as he agreed to continue providing for them. The remaining lads could fight amongst themselves for mastery over his Camberian lands and his daughters would remain useful in securing alliances with rival families. He wasn't too old yet to breed new sons to fight for Gwynedd, but he would prefer to do so with Alisandra if he could. She was the closest woman he could find to his long lost Sybilla; he'd spent too long making her over into his first love's image - nay, surpassing Sybilla, even! - to lose her now.

A new day was dawning, literally as well as figuratively. Malcolm smiled as he watched the sun rise over the crest of the Jorian Heights caldera.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

 _Shortly after midnight  
Coroth Castle  
December 24, 2021_

"Your Grace, could you come to the security room for a few minutes? I think you'll want to see this."

Morgan Haldane had been getting ready to go to bed when he'd heard the knock on his bedroom door, but as his steward explained what his security team had discovered, he reached for his shirt to put it back on before following her down to the computer station. "When did it start, Martha?" he asked as they descended the back stairs.

"Only about ten minutes ago, sir." Martha Hamilton opened the door to the security room. Morgan entered, his gaze fixed not on the bank of security screens showing camera views of different areas of the castle, but on a lone computer on the other side of the room where Jeannie FitzWilliam sat monitoring a hacker's activity.

Jeannie blinked owlishly up at him through thick glasses as he approached her workstation, giving him a sunny smile as he bent to see the screen. "You want to see what the intruder's doing, sir?" She rolled her chair slightly to one side to give him a better view. "The hacker accessed the server at 0017. He or she isn't deleting any of your email, sir, but appears to be reading it all in order and saving some of it. Of course, this is your dummy account, so any truly sensitive email is still safe. I took the precaution of taking that server completely offline for the moment. Oh, and I may have added a few false messages to this inbox, so let's see what the hacker makes of those."

Morgan's lips twitched. Knowing Jeannie's sense of humor, this could be interesting. "What sort of false messages?"

"Well . . . ." Jeannie's cheeks turned a vivid shade of rose beneath her sprinkling of freckles. "Are you aware you have a love child with Tralian actress Hedy Richter who is being raised on the Ile d'Orsal to avoid having to be entered into the Registry?"

He raised an eyebrow at his IT specialist. "Hedy Richter? Lucky me! What's my alleged child's name?"

"Oskar Leopold Richter. He's only four, but already showing a great deal of giftedness in the Deryni arts. And he looks just like his father."

Morgan shook his head. "You have way too active an imagination."

"That's what happens when you shut a girl up for long hours babysitting a computer, sir." She grinned unrepentantly up at him. "I've also fed the hacker some false security details, so if this is a break-in hack rather than a paparazzi hack, that's covered too. Any cat burglar is going to find a few nasty surprises waiting."

"Good job, Jeannie. I think I owe you a raise."

"And a dance at tonight's ball, sir? Perhaps a nice, slow one?" Her expressive brown eyes put him in mind of a hopeful puppy.

Morgan laughed. " _And_ a dance." He patted her shoulder. "And a ridiculous ServerGirl superhero costume I'm going to start requiring you to wear when you're on duty if you keep making up scandalous stories about my love life." He chuckled at her chagrined expression. "No worries; as long as Miss Richter doesn't bring a defamation of character suit against me, you should be safe from having to wear spandex. Carry on, ServerGirl."

She beamed. "Yes, sir!"

* * *

 _Morning, after breakfast  
Eirian House  
December 24, 2021_

So you're just going to give up, just like that? That's not like you, James; I suppose you must not be all that interested in Heather after all. Though I guess that's for the best, at least unless you're ready for a genuine relationship this time.

Had Dev meant for his observation to be a challenge, or it just come across that way? James wasn't entirely sure, but still the words grated. For once in his life, he was trying to do the right thing - it was quite clear to him that Heather had been badly hurt by Aderyn's father, whoever the bloody bastard might be, and James certainly didn't wish to add to her pain. No, it would be best for him to leave well enough alone, to just steer completely clear of that situation. Certainly there were far more available women to be had, women who would be thrilled to be in his company. He'd never lacked for female companionship before; why did he think he needed this particular one?

Except that Heather was different somehow. He wasn't certain how exactly, and now it seemed he was unlikely ever to know if things might turn out better this time.

He wasn't quite sure how she'd managed to work her way under his skin. She was cute, with those laughing ocean-blue eyes and vivid red flyaway curls, and that grin that made her look like some mischievous elf, but she was hardly the most beautiful woman he'd ever encountered. She had delightful curves, though not the most perfect form he'd ever held - well, actually he'd not really held her much at all, unless one counted such times as when he'd fended off that ridiculous attack of hers in Dev's leaky bucket of a car when she'd brandished the wet tissues at him after they'd driven through the car wash. She was a great deal of fun to be with - when she wasn't flaying him alive, at least - but he'd enjoyed the company of other women just as much. Well, all right, maybe that was somewhat less true. Other women had been pleasant enough to spend time with, to squire around to elegant dinners and fashionable clubs, and intensely pleasurable to while away the hours with in bed. But Heather's playfulness had been a different sort. There had been nothing intentionally seductive about it, yet she had him yearning for her like some lovestruck youth on the heels of his first crush. He was well beyond such schoolboy feelings at his stage of life, surely!

He had other things he needed to be doing instead of hanging around Eirian House in hopes of catching a glimpse of a woman who had made it perfectly clear that she didn't want him. But here he was, wandering the grounds aimlessly, trying to make sense of Devlin's counsel. Normally his friend was spot-on in his observations and guidance, but this morning James had found him almost maddeningly obtuse.

 _Maybe you should look at this as an opportunity, James. You've never actually taken the time to learn how to be a proper friend to a woman, and perhaps it's time you learned that skill. There's more to women than just the fun to play with bits, you realize._

Of _course_ he knew that! What sort of idiot did Devlin take him for? He wasn't the sort of man who thought a woman's only proper place was in the kitchen or the bedroom; other men might hold such antiquated views, but James wasn't among them. It was insulting, really, being lumped in with that sort of caveman male. _He_ had female friends . . . .

Except now that he stopped to call them to mind, he suddenly realized that he couldn't, not really. He had female colleagues, women whose minds and abilities he respected, but he'd never really spent any time with them on a social basis, dismissing them as either 'not his type' or, if attractive, 'too potentially messy.' He hadn't wanted to risk combining business with pleasure, after all, so wasn't it best to simply avoid any risk of a relationship that might complicate his work? That was simple prudence, he thought. All right, but not every woman was a work colleague; surely some of the ladies of his social circle counted? Again, when he stopped to go over the mental list by name, he realized that perhaps he had fewer female friends than he thought. He had several friendly acquaintances, but mostly of the sort whom he suspected of trying to cultivate him for his connections, or whom he'd cultivated for theirs. Or for more base motives, because they'd been stunningly attractive and of the right social set, and . . . damn. Perhaps Dev was on to something after all.

There were his former lovers as well, but James knew he couldn't count those either. At best, some of those splits had been mutually agreed upon, but he'd made no attempt afterwards to salvage what remained of the relationship to retain anything that he could honestly call a friendship. And at worst . . . . James winced. All right. So maybe he was better at sex than he was at relationships, but weren't most men? Surely _he_ wasn't the only one who sucked at developing genuine relationships with women? But maybe it wasn't really his fault, maybe the right woman simply hadn't come along yet?

Somehow, he suspected if he put that question to Dev, his friend wouldn't let him off easy with that sort of cop-out answer either.

So what would friendship with a woman even look like? James wasn't so sure it could be quite as uncomplicated as his relationship with Dev; after all, as attractive a bloke as every woman of their mutual acquaintance seemed to find the priest, James' biology wasn't hardwired to respond to him in the same way that he felt primed to react to attractive women. But surely surrounding himself with only homely women couldn't be the answer to the puzzle! And what would they even do together?

As if he were actually there with James rather than doing the hundred and one things he was probably doing at the moment getting ready to celebrate Christmas with the royal household, James imagined Devlin's voice inside his mind. _What would you do if you were just hanging out with me? Maybe visit one of the local pubs, take in a movie, take a walk, take a drive, go horseback riding. Watch something entertaining on the telly and discuss it afterwards over a cold beer. Pull up some VR games in the rec room, see the local sights, or sit out in the Conservatory and just talk. And with me, you'd enjoy those moments for themselves, not as a means for getting something you want out of me, and certainly not just as a means for getting me out of my pants! Why should it be any different when you're with a woman? Stop trying to rush to the same old destination and learn to enjoy the journey with her instead. Who knows, maybe if she ever gets to know the James I've come to know, she might be interested in more than friendship one day. But for now, you might try just taking things one day at a time._

James gave an amused snort. He'd gone to Devlin to find a sympathetic ear, not to carry away a mental homily. One of the hazards of befriending a priest, he supposed. But he supposed it wouldn't hurt to try taking things more slowly, at least where Heather was concerned. If she'd even let him close to her at all.

* * *

 _Later in the morning  
The Royal Conservatory  
Eirian House  
December 24, 2021_

Stringing beads was more calming than Sophia had ever realized. The craft supplies had belonged to her older sister Stefanie, but Sophia had discovered them when poking through an old storage chest in search of a photo album she thought she remembered their Mum had stashed away in there. Araxelle, that is, not the mother Sophia was trying to prepare herself to meet.

She'd wanted to refresh her memories of what Lady Violet had looked like, but the album was not where Sophia had thought it was. But the tin of beads and jewelry findings had caught her eye, so she'd taken that out instead, and had started idly stringing together a set of ebony and crimson beads, hoping the repetitive motion would help her calm her mind and nerves.

Sophia eyed the pattern beginning to take shape on the silken cord. It had started off random, but after a few minutes the ratio of crimson beads to black ones, not to mention their sizes relative to each other, had suggested a pattern to her mind. She'd unstrung what she'd started and began over again, rummaging through the bead tin until she'd counted out an appropriate number of each color of bead for what she had in mind. She would need some sort of cross also, or perhaps a saint's medallion would work, but a cross pendant seemed more likely to be found in Stefanie's odd assortment of jewelry findings and charms. Yes, there was a pretty gold one that would serve nicely!

"Lady Violet Estridge, Your Majesty." Henry ushered her visitor through the Conservatory entrance, and all thoughts of beadwork fled Sophia's mind. She set down the tin, rising to greet her guest.

The stately old woman curtseyed, the movement still graceful despite her advanced age. Sophia extended her hand to assist her in rising, studying the proud woman's features curiously. There were some similarities in bone structure between herself and this woman who had given birth to her, she supposed, and it appeared Lady Violet's eyes were a similar shade of dark blue, although in the older woman the outer edge of those blue irises had dimmed to a dark slate gray over time. Lady Violet's hair was snowy white now, not the frosted black she remembered from her early childhood. That was hardly a surprise, of course; she'd seen Lady Violet just days ago at Tre-Arilan in the aftermath of the acrinious gas attack on the Camberian Council members. But at the time, she'd seen the woman only as a patient and as a dimly remembered member of her late grandfather's Court. Her Mum's Mistress of the Robes, not as her birth mother. Seeing her now through different eyes, through a completely changed perspective, Sophia felt as though she was meeting Lady Violet for the very first time.

"Welcome to Eirian House, Lady Violet," Sophia said, gesturing to a nearby chair in a silent invitation to sit before taking her own seat again. "I hope the journey wasn't too taxing. How is your breathing this week?"

"Better than last week, thank you," her erstwhile patient answered. "Though I'm certain you didn't ask me here just to inquire after my health. How might I serve you?" Her birth mother's eyes studied her as appraisingly as Sophia had studied her moments earlier. Violet's lips turned upward in a faint smile. "You certainly have Nigel's stamp upon you, don't you? He'd have been pleased to see that. A true Haldane." She frowned suddenly. "How is your hand, dear?"

Sophia, startled, instinctively touched her left hand with the fingertips of the right, though she didn't evade the question. "Healed." The Haldane empowerment ritual was hardly public knowledge, although since Violet had once been a member of Nigel's Inner Circle, and briefly of Araxelle's, she might have known of it that way. Had Lady Violet simply guessed that hers had taken place already, or had someone informed the Council?

"Ah, you have a Healer in the Royal Household? Very good." Violet looked pleased, her smile broadening slightly as she folded her hands primly in her lap.

Sophia had the odd sense that she was losing control of the conversation. Her visitor seemed clearly more at ease with their meeting than Sophia felt. It was time to wrest the conversational ball back from Lady Violet. "You asked how you might serve me, Lady Violet. You could start by telling me more about the King my father. I only barely remember him. Why did Nigel choose not to acknowledge me as his daughter? And which of you came up with the idea of passing me off as Araxelle's?"

Violet's smile increased fractionally. Sophia sensed that she'd passed some sort of unspoken test.

"Nigel wanted to acknowledge you; Sybilla wouldn't have it. He _did_ acknowledge you within the Royal Family. It would have been easy enough to have sent me off packing until after your birth if that's what he'd wanted to do, without telling Her Majesty the reason for my absence. My father had only recently died and my mother was ailing at the time, so I could have simply gone home - or claimed to do so, and remained in seclusion until after your birth. Instead, when he learned that I was carrying you, despite the difficult circumstances he was elated. I agreed to do the tactful thing and absent myself from Court for a while - certainly I didn't imagine that Sybilla would wish to retain me as a lady-in-waiting any longer at any rate - but Sybilla did not want either of us returning to the Palace at all. I don't think it was my affair with Nigel that she objected to; she'd turned a blind eye at that for years. But she saw _your_ existence as a threat to Nigel's heirs. Or to her own, at least; at the time we had no reason to think that Araxelle was not Nigel's daughter. But claiming you as her own was actually Araxelle's idea. She was always keen to please Nigel, poor dear, and she knew how much Nigel wanted to have you close by to watch you grow up. I was less happy about the arrangement, but I had an ailing mother to care for and an irate brother threatening to disinherit me." Violet gave a drily amused snort. "Not that I was all that fussed about Ned's threat - he was always threatening to cut me off for one reason or another, and certainly Nigel wasn't going to leave me starving and homeless! But for Mother's sake I made an effort to keep the peace, and the original plan was that I was to be shifted from Sybilla's service to Araxelle's, where I would at least be able to watch you grow up in the Royal Family as befits your station. So I gave in."

"I do have a few memories of those early years when you were in Mum's service." That had slipped out, but Sophia made no effort to amend her statement. Araxelle _had_ been her Mum, damn it, no matter that the woman who sat before her now had been the one to give birth to her.

Violet gave a pleased smile. If she'd noticed Sophia's slip - and Sophia was certain she had - she gave no outward sign of it. "I _had_ wondered if you remembered me at all. You were so young when Nigel died." The brightness of her smile dimmed slightly as she recalled the loss. "He adored you."

"I adored him." And she had, even once she'd grown old enough to understand how flawed a man her beloved 'Grandpoppy' had been. Having loved him unconditionally as a young child, she could no more imagine that love dimming than she could imagine herself blowing out the sun, despite having grown up to learn that Nigel III had never been that paragon of godlike perfection at all that she'd once thought him to be, but simply a fallible man like any other save for the happy accident of Haldane birth. Perhaps not even all that happy an accident, in Nigel's case. Had he not been King of Gwynedd, might he have lived out his years more happily with the woman before her now than with the exquisite yet cold Andelonian princess he'd married and made his Queen? Or would he and Lady Violet even have met? There was no way to know, really.

There were other questions more readily knowable, however, and one in particular that had puzzled Sophia ever since she'd discovered that Araxelle was not her true mother. "Once the idea had been put to you to give me over to Araxelle and Henri to pass off as their own, how did that switch ever work? Surely one would think a Princess turning up with a baby when she wasn't even pregnant might draw a bit of speculation?"

"Araxelle _was_ pregnant again, at least at first," Violet told her, waiting for Sophia to absorb the initial shock of that news before continuing on. "That's what gave her the idea to claim you, I think. Her child's due date was close enough to yours, I think she hoped you might be passed off as twins somehow. But just a few months into her pregnancy, she miscarried. She had just started to show at the time, and the news had already been made public that she was in the family way again. We simply didn't make the miscarriage public. She and Duke Henri made an extended visit to his private estate in Joux, both to give her time to recuperate and allow them both some time to grieve and heal, and after my mother's death I joined them there. We rarely ventured out, the grounds were well warded, and on the few occasions when we needed to be seen, I was careful to conceal her condition and mine beneath a glamour. People only saw what they expected to see. And when you were born, it was simply assumed that you were Her Royal Highness's eagerly awaited third child. When you were two months old, we returned home to Gwynedd. To Eirian House, as it happens. Sybilla remained in Rhemuth - as it happened, she actually had a cold at the time, though that made a handy excuse not to show up for a granddaughter's christening. But Nigel was beyond thrilled to hold you in his arms for the first time. Prince Dolan came also. He was quite dubious about the entire idea of seeing you raised as one of Araxelle's children, but once he finally saw you he was completely won over."

"I'm afraid I don't really remember Prince Dolan," Sophia said regretfully. She'd grown up knowing about her mother's elder brother, of course, but by the time she'd been old enough to form clear memories, Araxelle had been Nigel's heiress.

"Yes, I imagine you wouldn't," Violet said. "He was a handsome lad, though more importantly he would have made an excellent King, had it not been for that damn racing accident! Nigel never approved of him taking up such dangerous sport, you know, but young people fancy themselves immortal." She shook her head. "I think part of Nigel died that day, when he lost his son, but having you by that time helped to get him through the worst of those days."

"And Araxelle as well, I should imagine."

Violet shook her head. "Don't get me wrong, he loved Araxelle in his way, and certainly she always did her best to please him, but the poor girl looked a bit too much like her mother. Nigel did his best to overlook that, but the simple fact was, whenever he looked at her, he couldn't help but see a younger, darker-haired Sybilla. It certainly wasn't Araxelle's fault. It was just that, unlike with you and Dolan, it was difficult for him to see anything of himself in Araxelle at all."

 _Well, there would be a reason for that,_ thought Sophia, wondering just how much Lady Violet knew about Araxelle's true parentage but unwilling to bring the matter up in case she knew less about it than Sophia suspected she might.

Violet soon spared her the wondering. "Officially, Princess Araxelle was conceived right after the Queen returned from an extended holiday visiting her parents' palace in Andelon. Unofficially, Nigel couldn't help but wonder if she'd been conceived right after Sybilla's return to Gwynedd or slightly before. When he'd last seen her, they'd had a vicious row - that was one reason her stay in Andelon had been so extended - but upon her return she seemed all eagerness to make up to him. He thought it a turning point in their marriage at first, put more of an effort in, hoping maybe they'd just got off to a rocky start but that now his Queen was ready to make a go at being a proper wife to him. That lasted about long enough for the ink to dry on Araxelle's birth records, then she returned to being the same bloody-minded bitch he'd remembered and he was fed up. If she wasn't going to put in the effort, why should he? So they put up a civil enough front in the public eye - Nigel demanded _that_ much, at least - but in private they led mostly separate lives from then on out. He always _hoped_ Araxelle was his, though."

Sophia thought back to Violet's question about her hand. "Were you involved in Araxelle's power assumption ritual?"

"I was. And so was Nigel, despite the cancer ravaging his body and sapping his strength by then. No one was more disappointed than he was to discover that the attempt to empower her had failed, not to mention more worried about the future of the Haldane throne. Dolan was dead by then, and the only true Haldanes left in Gwynedd besides Nigel with enough Royal Haldane DNA for the ritual to activate properly were you, the Duke of Corwyn, and his ten-year-old heir. Nigel wanted to end the deception right then and claim you as his royal heir, but I begged him not to. I was afraid he wouldn't survive a second ritual so close after the first, and you were barely five years old. I was afraid Sybilla would end up as Regent rather than Araxelle, who seemed too meek to stand up to her mother properly, but if Araxelle went on to inherit as everyone already expected, there was at least some chance of her own Deryni blood being strong enough for her to pass herself off as a true Haldane. I think Nigel hoped to consult with Anthony Haldane before making a final decision on the matter, but by the time Duke Anthony arrived in Rhemuth, Nigel was dead. His physician pronounced the cause of death to be heart failure, but I've always wondered, did he overtax his heart by participating in Araxelle's power assumption ritual against medical advice, or did Sybilla find out somehow what Nigel was planning - or did she at least suspect his misgivings once she learned that we failed to empower Araxelle?"

"Are you suggesting that Sybilla might have stopped Nigel's heart?" Sophia asked.

Violet shrugged. "I don't suppose we'll ever know for sure at this late date. The only person who could have told us what really happened is dead now. But I wouldn't put it past her. She had no love for Nigel, but she dearly loved being Queen. She would not have tolerated having to bow her head to Anthony Haldane, much less to Nigel's child by another woman. With Araxelle on the throne, at least she remained the Queen Mother, and Araxelle was malleable."

"Not quite as malleable as one might think," Sophia averred. "She was able to stand up to Sybilla when it mattered most."

Lady Violet nodded. "Quite right. Araxelle, for all her weaknesses, had one strength that Sybilla never understood. Araxelle understood what it was to love someone besides herself. It was no longer safe for me to remain in Rhemuth once Nigel died, but as long as Araxelle had breath in her body, I knew you would be safe from Sybilla. And I was right."

 _Right, perhaps, but also more wrong than you'll ever know,_ thought Sophia.

* * *

 _Afternoon  
Eirian House Grounds  
December 24, 2021_

Aderyn O'Flynn was bored. Bored and somewhat concerned. Eirian House was beautiful, what she and Mummy had seen of it so far, but it was very different from home and life with her Nan. They'd moved from Derry so quickly, would Father Christmas even know how to find her here? Maybe the Queen would tell him. She hoped so. To be honest, she wasn't entirely sure if she even believed in Father Christmas anymore, but so much had changed in her life over the past week, she figured it might be nice to have _something_ familiar she could count on here in these strange surroundings.

Mummy had promised to take her out for a walk in the gardens, but some old guy who was the Earl of someplace had asked if she could take a look at someone in the Queen's guard who'd somehow managed to cut himself with his own bayonet, so a lady who worked in the palace said she'd keep an eye on her. She gave Aderyn some stationery with the Haldane ensign on it and a half sharpened pencil, and left her to entertain herself while she worked on making wreaths out of some bits of greenery from the side garden to make the palace pretty.

There were other children at the palace, but Aderyn hadn't had time to make friends with any yet, and they were mostly spending time with their families anyway. So while Mummy was out Healing the guard, Aderyn sat on a stone bench and tried to draw her surroundings, not that she was any good at drawing anything yet except for cats. She was good at those. You simply drew a large Q and then gave it a head, whiskers, and ears. She gave up trying to draw Eirian House and simply drew an assortment of cats instead.

A shadow fell across her paper, and she looked up. The man who sat down beside her glanced down at her artwork.

"You like cats, do you?"

It was the man Nan thought looked so handsome on the telly, though today he wasn't dressed as fancy, and he looked like he'd not had much sleep. Aderyn knew that look; Mummy had woken up looking the same way that morning, her skin a bit dark under her eyes and her smile not very bright when she'd bothered to smile at all. Mummy had been cross too. Aderyn wondered if the man also felt cross when he didn't get enough sleep.

"Hello, Lord Aliran, do you live here too?"

He smiled, a more real smile than Mummy's had been over breakfast that morning. "It would seem that way, but no, I have my own house."

The woman minding her looked up at the sound of his voice and scurried over. "Good afternoon, sir, is there something I can do for you?"

"Thank you, no; I just saw Miss O'Flynn was out here and thought I'd stop for a moment to say hello. I don't suppose Healer O'Flynn happens to be around also?" He looked around as if expecting to see Mummy step out from behind a bush.

"The Healer's tending to a patient right now; I'm sure she'll return directly, Lord Arilan. Miss Aderyn is in my charge at present." She gave him a look like she'd been sucking on lemons.

"Ah. Well, I suppose I should be on my way." Turning to Aderyn, he tapped the paper she'd been drawing on. "If you like cats, you should get your Mummy to bring you by the stables - there are three barn moggies who live there, and they're quite friendly. Or I'd be glad to introduce you to them sometime, if your Mum will allow me to. Do you ride?"

She giggled. "Cats are too small to ride!"

He laughed. "Indeed, not to mention extremely difficult to saddle. I meant, do you ride horses?"

Aderyn shook her head. The nice man stood. "I think there's a pony or two in the Eirian House stables, to the best of my recollection. Perhaps you can learn how to ride while you're here. Does your Mum like horses?"

She shrugged. "She thinks they're pretty, but we can't have one. Mummy says they're too expensive, and you can't really fit one into a city flat anyhow. Getting it up the stairs might be a problem, and we haven't a back garden."

"Hm." The lord covered his mouth with his hand as if giving the problem serious thought. "You may be right. What about building a shed for it on the roof? Is it flat or sloped? Perhaps it could be brought up in the lift if you have room for a rooftop garden."

"It's sloped. That really wouldn't work at all." A twinkle in his eye helped her realize he was having her on, and she laughed. "Anyway, how would Father Christmas get a horse down the chimney?" she countered. "I'll have to settle for a cat, I think."

The man laughed too, and Aderyn realized her Nan was right, he really was pretty handsome for an old guy.

He left, and the old stick watching over her shook her head disapprovingly at him until he was out of sight. "Miss Aderyn, hasn't your mother taught you not to talk to strangers?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course she has. But Lord Aliran isn't a stranger, Mummy knows him, and he's nice. He likes cats and horses, and he's helping the Queen, and Her Majesty would know if he's a good man or a bad one because she's a Haldane. I don't think we really know _you,_ though, so I'll stop talking now." With a decisive nod, Aderyn returned to her drawing.

* * *

 _Evening  
The Chapel Royal, Eirian House  
December 24, 2021_

It hadn't been an especially busy day for Father Devlin, yet it had been a tough one nonetheless. He'd hoped to fill it up with work, but there hadn't been as much of that as he'd thought there might be despite the holiday. He'd already made his morning rounds among the pensioners - retired members of the Royal Household - who lived on the palace grounds, offering the Eucharist to those too infirm to attend the Christmas services at the Chapel Royal. There'd been the Blessing of the Crib just now, and later there would be a midnight Mass to bring in Christmas morning.

But for now, there was too much time to think.

He considered returning to his apartment to call his parents, but he normally did that on Christmas Day instead, after morning Eucharist. Most years, he would take a few days off in early January to visit them, but with his secondment he thought perhaps that visit might need to wait until a little later in the year. It wasn't his inability to visit his childhood home that was bothering him, however. No, it was the fresh reminder, especially at this most recent service when he'd been faced by the happy, expectant faces of the palace children, that this would be the fourth Christmas season since the loss of that one small, upturned face he never would see in this life. His grief for Suzanne had peaked early on, subsiding now to just the occasional twinge of wistful memory. His grief for his unborn child, on the other hand, continued on at moments like this, catching him off guard mostly at random times but a predictable visitor every Christmas since the accident that had ripped his family from him. He'd found some measure of solace in his work at the mission to help him deal with the seasonal renewal of grief, pouring himself into his ministry to the lads in his care there, but this year even that comfort had been denied him. He was still too new to Eirian House to have formed the sort of relationships with the parishioners here to help ease the pain of loss.

Of course, when he'd followed God's call on his life, he didn't recall ever receiving any promises that he would never have to venture outside his comfort zone. He snorted in quiet amusement at the thought. Probably a good reason for that. Devlin wasn't sure he'd had the luxury of being allowed to remain within his comfort zone ever since he'd been ordained; why should he think that this year might somehow be different?

He emerged from the sacristy to find the Queen standing just outside, apparently waiting on him. Of course - given her own recent losses, the day had likely been shattering for her as well.

"I'm sorry," she told him. "I don't mean to keep you, but do you have a brief moment?"

He summoned up a smile for her, glancing briefly beyond her to see the last of the palace residents departing, any stragglers who might have lingered to seek him out for a quick word apparently reconsidering once they saw Her Majesty waiting to do the same. A new armsman Devlin didn't recognize stood discreetly just out of earshot, and the two ladies-in-waiting had their backs to him as they studied the creche. He returned his attention to Her Majesty.

"I do, Ma'am. In here, or would you prefer my office?"

"No, this is fine. For once I'm not here to blubber all over you." She smiled before glancing away, looking slightly embarrassed. He chuckled.

"Well, that's good. Today was your meeting with Lady Violet, was it not? I hope that went well."

"It did. It was . . . most informative. I probably ought to see you about that too, but for now I think I still need a bit of time first to process everything I've learned." The Queen hesitated, appearing uncertain about something, but as he waited for her to come around to the reason for her visit, she gave him a sheepish smile and reached into her pocket before saying, "Hold out your hand, Father. I have something for you."

He complied, and she poured a small circlet of beads into his upturned palm. "It's not a Christmas gift exactly - well, I suppose it _is_ one in a sense, but I wasn't thinking in those terms when I made it." She laughed. "I was trying not to think at all; I found the bead tin when I was getting ready for Lady Violet's visit, and I was so nervous about it, I needed something to do with my hands. But I ended up making a chaplet, and . . . well . . . could you use it?"

He examined the prayer beads he held. It was a circlet of ebony wood beads, interspersed with larger crimson beads that divided the black ones into four groups of seven-bead weeks. Dangling from this small circle that was just large enough to fit over his hand was a shiral invitatory bead, and below that a golden crucifix.

He looked back up at her. "It's lovely, and yes, I could use it, but are you certain you don't wish to keep it for yourself?"

She shook her head, a slight flush on her cheeks. "I have more beads. I had thought perhaps I might make a St Camber's Chaplet the next time around. Have you ever seen one?"

"I don't think so."

The Queen tucked a stray lock of hair behind one ear. "Well, it's the same bead pattern, except that the gauds are in the colors for the four Archangels. You'll notice how your chaplet has crimson beads at the four quarters; well, imagine if I'd used gold, red, blue, and green for those quarters instead. Although the one that was on display at the Rhemuth Castle chapel had a smoky gray quartz bead where your shiral is, and there was a St Camber medallion on it as well. I think. I think that one belonged to a Deryni chaplain at the Castle centuries ago; Jen could probably remember which one. But let's just make sure yours doesn't fall apart first, before I go making more. Stef's the one who knew how to do proper beadwork, not me."

He couldn't see anything wrong with her handiwork, personally. He felt touched that she'd thought of him, and more than a little relieved as well. Whatever she and Lady Violet had discussed earlier in the day, Violet had evidently refrained from bringing up the topic of matrimonial candidates she thought were suitable, or the Queen would doubtless have spent the rest of the day avoiding him entirely, if not sending him packing back to St George Street rather than bringing him gifts!

"Thank you, Ma'am."

"You're quite welcome, Father." Sophia took a small step backwards. "I suppose I ought to go; there are a few things I need to settle with Lord Culdi before tomorrow. But . . . despite everything lately, happy Christmas."

He smiled, rubbing his thumb across the smooth surfaces of the beads he held. "Happy Christmas, Ma'am." He watched her leave with her small entourage, the smile fading into a thoughtful look.

Devlin glanced back at the Nativity scene, the serenity that had eluded him earlier beginning to enfold him like a divine embrace. "Despite everything," he repeated in a soft whisper, the prayer beads in his hand radiating a faint warmth, "Happy Christmas."

* * *

 _Night  
Coroth Castle Great Hall  
December 24, 2021_

"I believe I promised you a dance, ServerGirl."

Jeannie FitzWilliam beamed up at the dashing Duke who stood before her in the Great Hall of Coroth, currently serving double-duty as the Grand Ballroom for the night's festivities. "I believe you did, sir."

The music started, a famous waltz composed by a younger Morgan son born a century and a half earlier in honor of the Fiannese lady he had wed. The romantic strains wafted down from the musicians' gallery. Morgan Haldane led her onto the dance floor, moving her smoothly into the steps of the dance. For a few moments, Jeannie felt almost graceful, although she knew her newfound dancing skill was illusory; it was His Grace who possessed the skill to maneuver around her occasional bobble. At least she hadn't managed to tread on his toes yet, for which she was profoundly grateful.

"Stop thinking about what your feet are doing and relax," Morgan whispered, entering into a link with her just deep enough to communicate the pattern of the dance to her at a subconscious level. Jeannie wasn't entirely aware that's what he was doing, although she surmised he must have done something, for suddenly the waltz seemed effortless, and she allowed herself to simply enjoy being in the moment, moving in tandem with her lord's steps as if they shared a brain. Which, she supposed, was at least somewhat descriptive. It was not unlike being on a slave circuit, she imagined, although almost as soon as the thought had formed she amended it. She didn't like the master/slave imagery outside from its technological applications. The Duke was a gentleman, not the sort of unscrupulous man to take unfair advantage of his formidable powers.

Jeannie could understand why some humans might be nervous about Deryni, but she'd always thought they were pretty cool. Certainly she had nothing to fear from the one she worked for, at any rate, aside from the occasional qualm that she might make an idiot of herself in front of him, but honestly that had nothing at all to do with him being Deryni. He was just too damn hot!

The waltz ended. Jeannie looked up hopefully, but they hadn't ended up under any of the clumps of mistletoe strung up from the beams of the Great Hall. She lowered her gaze to find the Duke looking at her, an amused smile on his face. With one last twirl, he maneuvered her deftly beneath the nearest sprig, gallantly brushing a chaste kiss upon her cheek before bowing and moving away to seek out his next dance partner. It was enough. The music started again, and Jeannie floated back to the sidelines to savor her Christmas Eve memory.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

 _Morning  
The Queen's private apartments  
Eirian House  
December 25, 2021_

The Duke of Corwyn acknowledged Henry Carlisle's salute before turning his attention to the other armsman guarding the entrance to the Queen's apartment. "New blood?" he asked.

"Armsman in training," Henry confirmed. "Your Grace, this is Corporal Stephen Barrett. Michael and I are taking turns bringing the new armsmen up to speed in their duties. Barrett, this is His Grace of Corwyn. Learn his face; I'm sure he'd appreciate it if you don't greet him with a flying tackle or perforate him with the live weapon of your choice the next time he drops in to visit Her Majesty."

"Definitely not my preferred way to start the day," Morgan affirmed, sizing the new armsman up before offering a friendly nod of greeting. "I've seen you before. Where?"

"Here, sir," the corporal answered. "I've been billeted here at Eirian House for the better part of the past three years, aside from a six month tour of duty in the Anvil last winter. You've probably seen me on sentry duty trying to look appropriately stone-faced for the tourists."

Morgan gave an amused snort. "At least _your_ regiment's ceremonial uniform doesn't include a kilt. You should see what some tourists get up to when they're gawking at the guards up at Ballymar. At least one of the guardhouses had a box full of confiscated mirrors last time I was there."

The new armsman laughed. "I think the worst I had to sidestep was a four-hundred pound Americian woman with a face like a bag of hammers trying to kiss me while taking a selfie. I think I'll prefer indoor work, sir."

Henry started to open the door and announce the Duke's arrival when a quiet sound stopped him. Turning to face Morgan with a baffled look, he asked, "Excuse me, Your Grace, but did you just . . . mew?"

Morgan smirked back, opening his jacket in silent answer. A furry head peeked out from beneath Morgan's jacket, the kitten's tiny neck collared with a ruby and diamond bracelet. He drew the kitten out to show her off. Dark spots matching the wide stripe down its spine dotted its sides, hindquarters and underbelly, contrasting with the tawny background of its body fur.

"What is it, sir?" Barrett asked. "That's not your standard Gwyneddan tabby."

"No, this is a Byzantian breed, specially created by breeding one of their indigenous wild cats with one of the domesticated breeds to produce these exotic little moggies." As if in agreement, the kitten chirped loudly at him, drawing an amused grin from all three men. Morgan slipped the kitten back inside his jacket, zipping it up and mostly concealing it from view, although a dark-tipped tail briefly flicked up and waved over the V of his collar and it gave another mew.

Henry's lips twitched in an effort to hold back a laugh. "Happy Christmas, sir." He opened the door and announced Morgan's arrival. "The Duke of Corwyn, Your Majesty."

* * *

 _Morning  
The Queen's sitting room  
Eirian House  
December 25, 2021_

Jen looked up as Morgan Haldane entered the room. "Happy Christmas, sir! Sophia's just wrapping a few presents; she should be out in a minute."

"No worries." He unzipped his jacket slightly and a furry head popped out of the lowered opening. Jen laughed. Morgan cocked an eyebrow at her and lifted his finger to his lips. A tiny paw batting at his sleeve cuff nearly set her off again.

"You look dressed for the cold," he observed. "I take it you've been out and about already?"

Jen gave him a mysterious smile. "Maybe."

"Out riding?"

"Not exactly."

"Ah, I see. I'm not meant to know, am I?"

"You will eventually."

Morgan tried to figure out what Sophia and her ladies would have been doing outdoors on a chilly Christmas morning that he wasn't supposed to know about yet. It was probably gift-related, given Jen's reticence on the topic. "Am I getting a horse for Christmas? That might be hard to bring back through the Portal."

She grinned. "We are _not_ going to play Twenty Questions, sir; you'll just have to wait and be patient."

"Patient? Have you _met_ me?"

"I'm sure you can fake it."

The door to Sophia's bedroom opened. Eilonwy Adams came out first, leading a man who was presumably her husband, judging by their clasped hands. The man recognized Morgan almost immediately. He bowed his head respectfully to the Duke, who extended his hand for a handshake.

"Your Grace, this is my husband Patrick Adams," Eilonwy confirmed. "Paddy, I'd like you to meet the Duke of Corwyn."

"How do you do, sir?" Patrick responded as he shook the hand Morgan offered.

"Mew!" said a tiny voice within Morgan's jacket, making them all laugh. "What _she_ said," Morgan belatedly answered. "Good to meet you, Detective Inspector Adams."

"You are _not_ going to ask him anything work-related today," Sophia warned her cousin as she emerged from her bedroom. "Unless the investigation has turned up news of a bomb here at Eirian House, I really don't want to know at the moment. Not today. Time enough to catch up on things tomorrow."

"Yes, Ma'am," Morgan answered in a deceptively meek voice, although the effect was spoiled by a tiny growl followed by the front of his jacket twitching in a very odd manner.

Sophia raised her eyebrows at the sight. "Either those are the strongest palpitations I've ever seen, or you've got something in there. Hopefully not one of those chest-ripping aliens from a horror movie."

"Well, it's quite cute for an alien, and it _is_ digging at my chest with its hindquarters at the moment, but hopefully it's not too horrific," Morgan replied as he unzipped his jacket further to reveal the present inside.

Sophia beamed in delight as she reached for the little bundle of highly animated fur. It sniffed at her fingers before venturing a sandpapery lick on her thumb. She laughed. "Well, look at you! Aren't you dressed rather formally for the occasion?"

"She wanted to look presentable for palace life," joked Morgan. "Here, let me remove that before she manages to lose it. Several Duchesses of Corwyn will come back to haunt me if that happens."

"Is it a Morgan heirloom?"

"Yes and no." Morgan fumbled with the bracelet's clasp. "Alaric the Third gave it to Duchess Alycia Morgan as a wedding present when she married into the Haldane family. But it was a Haldane heirloom before that." He managed to remove the bracelet from the kitten's neck without snagging any fur, transferring it to Sophia's wrist instead. The kitten reached out to bat at him.

"And what is _your_ name?" the Queen asked the wriggling kitten.

"She wouldn't tell me, though maybe she'll tell you," Morgan said. "At least if your ancient Greek is better than mine. She's a Byzantian cat."

"Ah. Then I'll have to look up some suitable names for a little lady from ancient Byzantyun," Sophia replied. With an arch look towards Eilonwy, she added, "Perhaps the professional librarian has some suggestions?"

"Or the professional historian," Eilonwy said, smiling at Jen. "Between the three of us, I'm sure we'll manage to turn up something suitable.

"I have your little Byzantian's luggage downstairs in the Lord Chamberlain's office," Morgan told Sophia. "She comes with a set of essentials, so there won't be any need to make an emergency run for kitten food or a litter box during the bank holiday. Shall I have her supplies brought up?"

"That would be helpful. I was going to make her sleep in your bed this weekend if she didn't come with a litter box." Sophia grinned. "All right, Eilonwy and Patrick, would you two mind kitten-sitting for just a few minutes while I drag Morgan downstairs to open his present? We can stop by the Lord Chamberlain's office on our way out. When I get back, Eilonwy can have the rest of the day off so you two can disappear to do whatever it is you newlyweds might think to get up to after being separated for nearly a whole week."

"Nothing's coming to mind," Patrick joked, earning a swat from his wife. He laughed.

Sophia and Morgan left, Jen following at a discreet distance along with Armsman Barrett.

* * *

 _Morning  
The west wing coach gate  
Eirian House  
December 25, 2021_

"What in the world is that?" Morgan wondered aloud as he and his royal cousin approached the immense cardboard box dominating the covered driveway at one of the palace's side entrances. At close range, the monstrosity appeared to have been pieced together from several huge cardboard boxes that had been scavenged and taped back together to form a single, much larger box. The assembled gift box had then been partially covered over with scrap wallpaper, although at one end the paper had run out, so that side had simply been spray painted in a similar color. The top of the box was adorned by what appeared to be several looped strips of plastic sheeting that had been formed into the shape of a crude bow.

"That is . . . amazing. I have no words, Sophia. What's under all that, a very short elephant?" Out came Morgan's smartphone; he had to take pictures of this . . . _thing!_

"That's it, Morgan, a sawed-off pygmy elephant. They're all the rage now." Sophia handed him a box cutter. "Cut carefully; you won't want to scratch what's inside the box."

He took a final photo, handing the phone over to his cousin before opening the box cutter. "Any suggestions on where I should start?"

"Try one of the corners," Sophia offered. As he began carefully slicing down the length of one taped corner, Sophia took more photos.

Morgan sliced through the gap between two taped sides and moved to an adjoining corner to free those side edges as well. As the blade finished cutting through the last few inches of tape on that corner, Sophia stopped him before he lifted up the resulting flap of cardboard.

Looking up at him uncertainly, she said, "I wasn't sure . . . I know this is something you need, but if you decide you don't want this particular one . . . I mean, if it's too soon, or if you'd just rather not . . . ."

With a flash of insight, he lifted the flap, his gut instinct already telling him what the box contained. Under the cardboard, polished black metal gleaming as the morning sunlight hit its side, was Prince Kelric's Gryphon Charger 3Z, the car he'd borrowed four nights earlier for his trip with Jen DeLisle through the Cloome Pass to retrieve the missing regalia box. It brought back a rush of memories, some painful, but happy ones as well. Of all his cousins, he'd grown up closest to Kelric. Yes, the gift was bittersweet, but he treasured the remembrance nonetheless.

Morgan drew Sophia into his arms, blinking away tears as he dropped a tender kiss atop her head. When he could trust himself to speak, he asked, "Does it come with the key, or am I meant to hot wire the thing?" His voice was husky with emotion, and Sophia's reply sounded rather liquid as she answered, "Jen has it."

Morgan looked behind her to see Jen approaching with a small box. He took it, opening the lid to find not just the expected car key, but also an embossed leather key fob decorated with his Corwyn arms. He smiled. "Nice touch."

"Thank you," Jen replied. "I'm afraid it was a bit of a rush effort, but fortunately your arms are easy enough to trace."

"You made this?" he asked, surprised.

She shrugged. "There wasn't exactly time to find a local shopping mall."

He chuckled. "I imagine not. Thank you. I'm afraid you'll need to wait until tomorrow for your present; it involves a bit of long-distance travel, although it's only seconds away by Portal."

"Long distance . . ." Jen glanced at the Queen, who caught Morgan's eye with a conspiratorial expression. "Wait, you mean an insider's tour of Coroth Castle?" At the Duke's confirming smile, she grinned. "Hot damn!"

"I do want my lady-in-waiting back eventually, Morgan," Sophia informed her cousin, "even if you have to pry her fingers off the Green Tower's crenellations with a crowbar."

* * *

 _Late morning  
Eirian House grounds  
December 25, 2021_

James and Devlin sought the relative privacy of the Eirian House grounds for their conversation, despite the wintry chill outside. The rising sun had brought a slight rise in temperature with it, enough so that James felt warm enough to unbutton his coat once the two men had been walking for several minutes.

"We've traced Armitage to Americia, but there the trail stops," James told Devlin. "Rumor has it that he is planning a return trip, and there has been an increase in chatter between the Humanity Ascendant cells, but it's well encrypted."

"Have there been actual sightings of him in Americia?" Dev asked, "or what makes you certain he ended up there?"

"There've been reports of sightings from credible sources," James answered, "although we haven't managed to track down where he is staying. There are Humanity Ascendant cells in Americia as well, and they've also shown an increase in activity since the Castle bombing. He could be staying with one of his Americian colleagues, which would explain the lack of activity on his bank account since the fifteenth. It would be tempting to think he died in the bombing, except that there's a record of him purchasing an airline ticket to Americia earlier that evening."

"But that's where the trail ends?"

"Pretty much."

Dev thought through the implications. "He could have switched to an assumed name. With forged documents, any of his allies in Americia could have set up a new bank account for him."

"Yes, I've reached the same conclusion. It would be more difficult for him to obtain a forged Gwyneddan passport from over there, but he might have made arrangements for one on this end before his trip to Americia. That would allow for the return trip."

"Might he be using his Eric Harvey alias?" Dev asked.

"That would be handy, wouldn't it? I have my men checking that lead, but if he has one alias we know about, I think it's likely he has others we're not on to yet." James sighed. "We really don't need this complication, especially on the eve of a state funeral. But hopefully we'll get a break in the case soon."

"Detective Inspector Adams is here from Rhemuth visiting his wife Eilonwy," Devlin informed him. "He might appreciate being filled in on your discoveries, since he's been working the case as well."

"I think I'll do that, especially since he might tracking leads I've not come across yet."

"You might want to wait a few hours, though," Dev cautioned.

"Time is of the essence," James reminded him.

"True. But Patrick Adams is a newlywed who has been working long hours lately and hasn't seen his bonny bride in nearly a week. Knocking on his apartment door might be rather awkward just now. I'd suggest waiting until tea time at least." Dev smiled.

James laughed. "Point noted. Having seen his bride, I'm thinking maybe I ought to wait until tomorrow."

"Well, time _is_ of the essence, but hopefully they'll emerge from their love nest sometime before that."

* * *

 _Late morning  
A private apartment  
The Queen's Wing, Eirian House  
December 25, 2021_

Patrick Adams took a short break from enjoying his beloved and very much missed bride to cast an appreciative glance around the room at the rest of the scenery. "This is really nice. I could get used to this."

"I should hope so," Eilonwy teased, "since you're sentenced to me for life."

He laughed. "That too, but I meant the palace! This is a great bed. How old do you suppose it is?"

Eilonwy gave the headboard an appraising look. "Oh, maybe a century or nearly two? The mattress is considerably newer, of course. I rather doubt they made memory foam back in Alaric the Third's day."

"Yes, that seems unlikely." Patrick trailed a string of kisses down his wife's bare shoulder. "So you've been living in the lap of luxury here in this apartment while I've been pulling double shifts and eating tinned soup, have you?"

"Well, not in this apartment; Jen and I have been sharing a small room off the Queen's bedchamber, but it's not too shabby. We have managed to miss out on tinned soup, but we've not had any shift breaks either, although that's soon to change. Sophia's managed to contact a few other friends who will be able to join us here at Eirian House after the holidays, so starting in January we'll be rotating pairs of ladies-in-waiting on call for one-week shifts. I'll only need to be on duty here every fourth week or so. But she says this apartment is for our personal use as long as I'm part of her Court, and that you're welcome to stay with me here whenever I'm on duty, or even when I'm not. Or when I'm not on duty, I can return to our Rhemuth flat for those weeks, since that's more convenient for your work. And mine as well, for that matter, since I'm hoping to be able to stay on at the Royal Library at least on a part-time basis."

"It wouldn't be so bad to spend weekends at a palace," Patrick mused, "although it's a fair bit of a commute during the workdays."

"Not so bad," Eilonwy countered, "if you're willing to use the public Portal network. Eirian House has a working Portal again, and it's not so far a walk from the public Portal in Rhemuth to your station. Even if you have to queue up to use the Portal during the peak hours, the wait wouldn't be nearly as long as driving back and forth every day would be."

"There is that. I suppose I could do that during the weeks you're on shift here." The kisses ventured back up her arm before exploring more interesting territory. "What's the nursery like here at the palace?"

Eilonwy responded with something between a strangled laugh and a catch of breath. "Why?" she asked once she could speak properly again.

"We may need to know someday, if this keeps up," Patrick replied.

Eilonwy began a few explorations of her own. "Seems to be keeping up well enough so far," she mused. "I don't know about adding to the palace nursery just yet, though. Perhaps we ought to get in a little bit more newlywed time first."

"I'll get right on that, Mrs Adams."

* * *

 _Afternoon  
Another private apartment  
Eirian House  
December 25, 2021_

Heather answered the knock on her door expecting to find someone was in need of a Healer's services. Instead, she found James Arilan bearing a large cardboard box.

"Happy Christmas," he told her, gazing down at her with a cheery smile as if they'd not parted on strained terms just three nights earlier. "I thought you and the half-pint might be able to use these during your stay here."

"I . . . ." Heather stared at him, baffled, hoping the box wasn't too heavy. She stepped back to allow him entry. "What is it? I didn't . . . I don't have a present for you, I'm afraid."

He set the box down on the floor in her small sitting room. "No worries. Is this box wrapped like a Christmas present?"

"Well . . . no."

"There you go, then. It's not a Christmas present, really, it's a 'keep Heather and Aderyn from expiring from mind-numbing boredom on bad weather days' present."

She laughed despite herself. "You really didn't need to do this, James," she told him, peeking into the open-topped box. It appeared to be filled with an assortment of board games and card games.

"Once upon a time there was a ten-year-old boy who drove his mother batshi- um, _batty,"_ he quickly amended as he noticed Aderyn peeking in on them from the bedroom, "because he was cooped up inside for an entire week during a blizzard. Now granted, we're not expecting a blizzard this week, so maybe you can't quite relate yet to my mother's predicament during that time of extreme duress, but she told me years later that board games and playing cards were what saved what little remained of her sanity." He eyed Heather dubiously. "Of course, having ridden in a car with you here all the way from Tre-Arilan, I've just realized I might have arrived with the box too late to save yours, Chameleon-Face."

Aderyn giggled. "Mummy's not mad, Lord Aliran, she just acts that way sometimes," she said as she ventured into the room. "Can I see what you brought us?"

James tilted a questioning look at Heather, who sighed and stepped back from the box to let her daughter rummage through its contents. "Well, since you're here, maybe I can at least offer you some ginger biscuits and hot cocoa. We were about to sit down to an afternoon snack."

"Father Christmas found us, Lord Aliran!" Aderyn explained. "I got a little oven that really works, so we've been using that to make biscuits, and I made a cake." She pointed to a round, sloppily-iced confection with red lettering on it. The entire cake looked like it would fit in one of his hands. He ventured closer to read "Happy birhtday Jesus" written on it with gel icing in a child's script.

"Hm. Looks nice, Aderyn, although I think you'll have a fair bit of trouble getting two-thousand and twenty-one candles on that tiny cake. And I wouldn't advise using trick candles either; you might set Eirian House on fire."

The child giggled. "Don't worry, no candles." She ran back into the bedroom, emerging moments later with a large stuffed animal. "I got a cat too!"

"I see that!" James settled onto the sofa and reached for the stuffed cat to give it a closer inspection. "Now we just need to work on that pony garden on the roof."

"The _what?"_ Heather asked, baffled, as she poured the hot cocoa.

James filled her in on his brief encounter with Aderyn the day before. "The old bat who was minding Aderyn didn't tell you I'd spoken with her?" James asked as he accepted the cup she offered him.

"She mentioned it, but this is the first I've heard about roof ponies," Heather replied, studying him above her cup with a puzzled frown.

"What _did_ she say?" James asked.

Heather blushed. "Well, she warned me off you," she admitted.

James rolled his eyes. "Oh, right. I'm the Big Bad Wolf. Rawr." He nibbled at a ginger biscuit before giving Aderyn a sidelong glance. "Are you Little Red Riding Hood?" She giggled.

"Mummy went as Little Red Riding Hood to a masquerade once," Aderyn offered. "Nan helped her make her costume."

"Did she now?" James gave Heather a feral grin. "I'd love to have seen that."

Heather's blush deepened. "It was a friend's party. The theme was nursery tales."

"Somehow the idea of you going to costume parties surprises me not at all. Sounds like fun, actually. I've come to the conclusion lately that I have very boring friends, barring Dev. I'm hoping to change that." He polished off the ginger biscuit before rising to pull a card game out of the box. "Have either of you ever played _'_ _Oh, No!'?"_

"I don't think so," Heather said as Aderyn shook her head.

"Well, we definitely need to change that. _'_ _Oh, No!'_ is very easy to learn; Aderyn will probably be trouncing both of us in no time." He deftly shuffled the deck and began to deal out three hands.

* * *

 _Later that evening  
Heather's sitting room  
Eirian House  
December 25, 2021_

James leaned back against the sofa cushions, eyes closed in deep contentment. "That was fun. The whole afternoon was enjoyable, really."

"It was," Heather agreed quietly.

He opened his eyes again, turning his head toward her. "Aderyn's settled in for the night?"

"Yes," Heather said. James thought he heard a hint of wariness in her voice.

"I'd probably best be off, then." He gave her a teasing smile. "Now that your little chaperone has packed it in."

"James . . . ." Heather reached out as if to lay a hand on his arm, but seemed to have second thoughts about the gesture, for she withdrew her hand to clasp her fingers primly on her lap. "I owe you an apology."

"There's no need."

"Actually, there is. I was awfully unfair to you a few nights ago. I had a very bad breakup experience with Aderyn's father, but it wasn't fair of me to take my anger with him out on you."

"I figured it was something of the sort. You did mention I put you in mind of him."

"Well, yes and no." She gave him a weak smile. "I liked this, today. You're right, it was a lot of fun."

"So did I."

She picked up a game piece, idly twisting it between her fingers. "Kit's never shown a moment of interest in his daughter. When I told him I'd fallen pregnant, I wasn't sure what to expect. I'd already begun to suspect he wasn't the marrying sort, even though he'd been stringing me along with talk about us maybe getting married someday, so I had some faint hope he might actually follow through. But the first words out of his mouth were 'You can abort it, can't you? I'll spot you the money.' Not 'Do you want to keep the baby?' or even 'Maybe we can check out agencies that offer adoption services if that's what you want to do.' Not a single question about what _I_ wanted to do about the situation." She gave a mirthless laugh. _"_ _Definitely_ no offer of child support, though he could certainly have afforded it, even back then. I could have pursued that nonetheless, but I decided not to. I decided we didn't need him in our lives. Maybe not my best choice, because Aderyn's sometimes had to do without things Kit could easily have afforded, but shortly after she was born my Healing gift manifested and I got accepted into Healer training, and at any rate, by that time I wasn't entirely sure where to find him. He was out of my life as soon as he realized I wasn't going to be up to following him around from party to party anymore."

"What about his parents? Would they be willing to help you out for the sake of their grandchild?"

Heather snorted. "His mum who called me a gold-digging whore who deliberately set out to trap her precious darling, or his father who tried to write me a bigger cheque after I'd made it clear to Kit that I was keeping the baby? Kit's father thought I was just angling for a marriage proposal, or maybe just to make trouble for the family, so he tried to buy me off. Ten-thousand royals if I would go away and leave them alone, and not try to give my baby Kit's surname or ask him for anything more. As if I'd even consider doing so by that point!"

"How did your folks take the news?" James ached to hold her, but he sensed she wouldn't be receptive.

"Dad died when I was thirteen, so thank God I never had to tell him. Mum was devastated, but she coped - she always does, bless her! She'd tried to warn me off Kit, but I wouldn't listen. I was convinced I'd found true love, I liked having an older man paying attention to me and getting me into parties and clubs - Kit was twenty-four at the time - and at seventeen I thought I knew everything and didn't need my Mum telling me what to do anymore. Having to admit I'd been taken in and that I needed her help was a bitter pill to swallow. But by the time Aderyn was born, she was excited about having a grandchild to spoil. It's been hard on her, though. Just when she was looking forward to a bit of peace and quiet, not to mention finally getting to enjoy a bit of travel in her retirement years, instead of leaving home to start a life of my own, I was moving back in with an infant. She hasn't complained, really, but I feel like I've imposed on her for too long. Now that Aderyn is in school during the day and I'm finally making a decent income, things are a bit easier, but my job hours were irregular at the RHR, and Mum couldn't see me paying for daycare and babysitter fees when she was around to help out."

"Maybe this secondment will end up turning into a full-time position," James said. "After all, with a household the size of the one here at Eirian House, I would imagine HM will eventually want at least one Healer and one physician to provide for staff needs, not to mention her own."

"There's already a physician on call here, I think, although I've heard he's near retirement," Heather mused. "I suppose you're right. Though I'd like to keep my hand in at the RHR as well, even if only on a part-time basis. My speciality is in mental health, although of course I can do physical Healing as well, and I'm always looking to broaden my experience and expand my skill set."

James shrugged. "Maybe some sort of rota could be worked out, then. Two days a week at the RHR, three days here, and weekends off for good behavior. I won't tell HM you cheat at cards."

Heather laughed. "I did _not_ cheat; I won that last round fair and square!"

"Suuuure you did." James stood. "I need to go. But if you're free tomorrow, would you and Aderyn like me to pick you up and bring you to Tre-Arilan? Or I can stop by here again - I have a few matters I need to discuss with HM when she has a free moment - but either way, I think Aderyn was hoping for a riding lesson or two, if that's all right with you, and I'm more familiar with which horses at Tre-Arilan would be best suited for a beginner. I might be able to come up with a docile one for her Mum as well."

She laughed. "It would have to be docile; the only horse I've ever been on was attached to a carousel! Although I'm afraid we can't. I need to stop in to see a patient in Coroth tomorrow, and I promised my mum I'd drop Aderyn off with her on the way over so they can spend Boxing Day together."

"What about some day next week, then?"

She bit her lip. "I suppose so. Only . . . ."

"Only?"

"Well . . . ." Heather sighed. "I'm just concerned about Aderyn getting too attached to you. I mean . . . ."

"I know." James took her hand. "I think, all things considered, we need to focus on just getting to know each other for now. Maybe we'll just end up being good friends, maybe something more will eventually develop - I'd like that, honestly - but in any case, I think it's safe to say that Aderyn will figure out that while some friends come and go throughout one's life, the best of those friends will eventually end up being there for the long haul, like me and Dev. Maybe someday like the two of us, but if not . . . ." He shook his head. "The only thing I can promise you is that I will do my utmost to never hurt you. Or Aderyn."


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

 _Morning  
The Barrough Garden  
Coroth Castle  
December 26, 2021_

"And to the left you will see the Green Tower, one of the oldest intact features of Coroth Castle . . . ." Gregory Torrence turned to look in that direction along with the rest of the tour group, only half listening to the guide, since unlike the rest of the tourists he was not really there to sightsee. He did happen to note the position of the flags flying atop the tower, but that was hardly as informative as he'd hoped. Under normal conditions, the position of the Corwyn banner might have indicated whether the Duke was in residence at present or not, but with Gwynedd still under a heightened state of alert, he suspected that Corwyn's security staff was hardly likely to make the Duke of Corwyn's presence or absence a matter of public knowledge. And of course the flag of Gwynedd remained steadfastly at half staff due to the period of national mourning.

"Prior to 1052, according to ancient documents found in the Ducal Library, all of the Castle towers once contained windows of colored glass, and each of the towers was named for the color of the windows it contained. In addition to the Green Tower we see before us, Coroth Castle also boasted a Blue Tower, a Gold Tower, a Vermillion Tower, and a Black Tower. The precise configuration of these towers has been lost over the years. As you can see, the glass in the other towers was later replaced by clear diamond-paned windows. The original colored panes were ordered to be destroyed by Duke Stiofan in 1052 after a disastrous attempt at a magical working by Lewys ap Norfal, the intent of which is now unclear. Various speculations abound as to what the Deryni mage was attempting to do, but what is known is that the experiment failed spectacularly. . . . " The tour guide continued on to describe the extent of the damage that had befallen the original castle structure due to four of its towers being boarded up and unused for several generations, and the restoration of these areas and renovations added on at various later dates. Torrence feigned the typical mild interest of a tourist enduring the Castle of the Day spiel after several days of being shuttled from stop to stop, but all the while he was taking in as much as he could of his surroundings-possible points of access to the private areas of the castle, likely vulnerabilities, the level of visible security (and speculations on what other protections might exist but be less obvious to the casual bystander), and anything else he thought might be of interest to his lord.

He extended his senses outward, careful not to attempt anything more than the briefest brush against anyone else's mind. He didn't wish anyone to think he was attempting a mental probe and become alarmed, alerting security to his presence here, yet there was a particular psychic signature he was hoping to find, if it should happen to be within range. It would not be too out of the ordinary for a Deryni tourist to wish to take in as many of the sights and sounds of Coroth Castle as possible with a politely non-intrusive extension of enhanced senses to make the most of the experience. As he did so, he suddenly felt a sensation as if someone nearby was watching him, someone to his right and slightly behind where he stood. Several levels above as well, he thought as he paused to gauge where the observing gaze seemed to be coming from. Pretending to admire one of the evergreen shrubs in the garden, Torrence took a quick glance back over his shoulder toward the castle's gatehouse. There! Four floors up, behind a window with some ornamental iron grille work that he suspected was meant to be as functional as it was decorative.

Torrence took a few more steps up the garden path, ostensibly to keep up with the rest of his group, but at a bend in the path he glanced upward at that window once more, extending his senses further in that direction. He was rewarded with a brief glimpse of a woman's face in the window, her blonde hair pulled back to reveal finely sculpted features. A mere human would not have been able to make out much about her appearance from this distance, but Torrence was no mere human, and what he couldn't glean from his physical senses alone, his psychic impressions and memories were able to fill in. _She_ was here!

Now he just needed to figure out some way to get to her.

* * *

 _Noon  
The St George Street Mission  
Rhemuth  
December 26, 2021_

"Father Dev's 'ere! Father Dev's 'ere!" An excited tumble of lads nearly fell over each other, each boy trying to get to Father Devlin first. A more sedate Father Lachlan Reilly brought up the rear, his jovial features smiling in greeting as he tried to calm the tumult.

"'Ave ye seen th' Queen yet, Father? Is she as pretty as she looks on t' telly?"

"Wot's Eirian 'Ouse like, then?"

"Can y' bring th' Queen here, Father?"

"Don't be daft, he can't bring 'er 'ere! What'd we do, give 'er spag fal?" A good-natured scuffle broke out between the last two speakers, stopped almost before it started by Father Lachlan's admonishing touch on one boy's shoulder and Father Devlin's affectionate headlock on the other, which led to the boy's laughing sidestep away.

"All right, where do I start with all that?" Devlin replied to the torrent of questions. "Eirian House is lovely, so is Her Majesty, and she might like Mrs Maggie's Spaghetti Fallonese," he replied. "She likes Lion Burgers."

"With real lions?" the youngest lad asked, wide-eyed, to howls of laughter from the others and a light smack on the head from the oldest.

"Does that mean ye'll bring 'er 'ere, then?"

"Well, I don't know about that," Devlin demurred. "Not that she's not visited Rhemuth missions before, so if she'd like to visit St George's maybe I can bring her by someday, but at present we still haven't caught all the terrorists involved in the Castle bombing, so security is pretty tight around Her Majesty at the moment. But enough about that; what's been going on here since I've been gone?"

Another loud hubbub arose as the youngsters clamored to fill him in all at once on the events of the previous week. Devlin moved down the hallway into the common room, raising a hand to capture their attention. "All right, then, one at a time!" Taking a seat, he addressed an especially eager young lad. "Tommy, why don't you start?"

* * *

 _Afternoon  
Coroth Castle-the Long Gallery  
December 26, 2021_

"Now here's a part of the Private Collection that might especially interest you." Morgan Haldane stopped in front of a magnificent portrait that was centuries old. The man gazing down at them from the painted wood panel appeared to be in his late forties, no longer in his first youth yet no less healthy and hale looking for all that. Even now, nearly a millennium later, Jen could almost sense the power emanating from the man - not simply his magical potential, but the charisma exuded by this particular former Duke of Corwyn.

Alaric Morgan, the Seventh Duke of Corwyn, was apparently no longer in what costume historians had jokingly phrased his "darkling" stage of life when he'd sat for the portrait, yet the artist's palette conveyed this aspect of his personality nonetheless. He'd chosen attire of simple yet sumptuous black velvet and brocades relieved by flashes of brilliant emerald wherever the bright silk of his undertunic was revealed by the cut of his doublet. The rings on his hands equally revealed his identity to the viewer, but what struck Jen the most was the keen intelligence in the grey eyes that appeared to survey her. The golden-bright hair had become streaked with silver, adding a distinguishing look to the man's appearance. A slight uptilt to the corners of his lips and a faintly arched eyebrow gave the impression that Duke Alaric was laughing at her, or at least that he'd been amused by something while the artist had captured her impression of him. Jen knew the identity of the artist in question; there were very few extant works of the second Duchess to the Eighth Duke of Cassan left to posterity, but she'd had an unmistakable style to her work. One unusual aspect to this portrait was that the subject had been posed standing beside a portrait of another man, one hand casually resting atop its frame as if he were inspecting that portrait for approval. From the secondary portrait depicted in the painting, Kelson the Great's likeness, identifiable by his Haldane crimson garments and a distinctive crown which in present-day Gwynedd was now safely housed in the Royal Treasury, also stared out at the viewer.

"He's magnificent!" Jen breathed. "I've seen this portrait in my history textbooks, but the photographs can't do justice to the original."

"Yes, there are some aspects to the original that photography can't capture," Morgan - the current Duke, that is - agreed. "If you'll step closer, I'll show you one."

Curious, Jen stepped forward.

"Hover your hand just above Kelson's likeness in the portrait," Morgan told her. He demonstrated what he meant, holding his outstretched hand just above the painted board, just a few millimeters above the painted surface. "Try not to touch the paint - my art conservators would hardly thank me for the addition of your skin oils to the artwork - but bring your palm as close as you safely can to the surface, and focus on what you sense there."

Jen reached out as he'd indicated, holding her open hand just a fractional distance above the painted board. Her fingertips detected a faint tingle, some lingering effect of what had once been some powerful spellwork. It was some sort of connective link, she thought, although the connection had long since been severed. She glanced up at Morgan in question as she pulled her hand back. "What was the spell? Some sort of communication link?"

"Exactly." Morgan pointed out Kelson's miniature likeness. "Somewhere in Rhemuth there was a companion portrait to this one, probably one in which Kelson the Great stood in a very similar pose holding a painting of Alaric Morgan. During their lifetimes, it's believed that other portrait was probably on a wall in the King's private chambers at Rhemuth Castle. If they wished to communicate with each other across the long distance between them, it's believed they could do so easily if both men were in touching range of their respective portrait. You'll notice the paint on Kelson's portrait is slightly more worn than on the rest of the painting."

"So this was the fancy smartphone of Kelson's day," Jen joked.

Morgan laughed. "It would appear so, yes."

"Did they have pre-arranged times to communicate, or how would one man know when the other was trying to reach him?" Jen asked. "I don't imagine there was a ringtone." She grinned.

"We really don't know. If the other portrait had survived, we might know more about how the original spell worked, but sometime after Kelson's death it ended up moved to the original Schola of Saint Camber for subsequent generations of Deryni scholars to study, or so the art historians believe, so it quite likely was destroyed in the Great Fire in 1366."

"That's a shame. There are few examples of Mirjana of Cassan's art left for us to study. Sir Will said the spellwork in the rare pieces that survive was just as masterful as her talent in portraiture. Now I can understand why he thought so. This must have been quite powerful magic for us to still detect traces of it left at this late date." Jen sighed. "I wish we could time travel. I'd love to able to go back to Kelson's time and meet some of these legendary figures in person."

Morgan chuckled. "Probably for the best that we can't. There's some speculation that that's what poor Lewys ap Norfal was attempting to do when he mysteriously vanished during his infamous experiment in the Barrough Garden - create a Portal that would allow travel through time, that is, not visit Kelson's era, since that would have been in his future, not his past - and the repercussions of that disaster took a few more centuries to sort out. Besides, don't forget that you could just have easily have ended up burned at a stake if you turned up in the wrong place and around the wrong people in Kelson's day, at least in the earlier years of his reign."

"Even in the later years, in some regions. Kelson's reforms took a few generations to catch on throughout the kingdom, after all. Even late in his son Javan's reign there were occasional horror stories of anti-Deryni incidents in some of the more outlying areas of the Kingdom, although far fewer of them than in the reigns that preceded Kelson the Great's." Jen sighed. "You're right, of course. I really wouldn't want to risk being stranded in the age of Deryni burnings. But it would be wonderful if there were some way to at least view that era of history as it actually happened and not through the foggy lens of distant speculation and piecing together of remaining clues."

"Yes, viewing it as it actually happened would be interesting," Morgan allowed. _"_ _Living_ in an era without showers and flush toilets, on the other hand . . . . "

Jen laughed. "I wasn't proposing _moving_ there, even in the unlikely event we ever discover the secret of time travel!"

* * *

 _Afternoon  
The St George Street Mission  
Rhemuth  
December 26, 2021_

"Father Devlin, got a minute?"

Dev glanced over his shoulder at the lanky teenager behind him. He finished folding the shirt he held and set it to one side, turning his full attention to the youth. "Sure, Toby, what's up?"

The lad shot a quick glance behind him to make sure no one else was in earshot. "Beggin' pardon, Father, but is th' Queen really safe now? At Eirian 'House, I mean?"

"As safe as we're able to make her. Why do you ask?"

Toby took another nervous glance over his shoulder before stepping closer to whisper, "I 'ate t' say, but p'r'aps she oughter stay there on Friday rather 'n comin' 'ere t' Rhemuth. Might be safer for 'er."

"It's her family's funeral, Toby. I doubt we could convince her to stay away." Devlin studied the troubled youngster with a concerned frown. "Why? Is there something I ought to know about?" Noticing the boy's nervousness, he added, "You don't think she's in danger from anyone here, do you?"

" 'Ere? Naw, not 'ere, Father! We all love 'Er Majesty, it ain't that. It's just . . . . " He took another few steps closer until he was standing directly beside Devlin before whispering almost sub-audibly, "Them Haitch-Ay fellers've been real active lately in St George Street, like what Jonny got caught up wiv. Word's out sumfin's in th' works f'r New Year's Eve, an' that bein' th' day o' th' funeral an' all, I couldn't help but wunner . . . ."

"There's a Humanity Ascendant plot in the works for the day of the funeral?" Devlin rephrased in the Queen's Gwyneddan in hopes of getting more clarification.

Toby nodded. "Th' same lot tha' done for poor Jonny. That wern't no accident, him gettin' hit an' run over like that. 'E knew too much, see."

Devlin nodded, thinking of the dying youth in the Royal Hospital Rhemuth whose warning to him slightly less than two weeks earlier had come just a little too late to prevent the cascade of events that had taken place since then. Hopefully this warning, coming five days before whatever was in the works this time, would allow for sufficient time to avert the terrorist organization's plans. "Do you know anything about what the HA are planning on doing?"

Toby shook his head. "They know I ain't one of 'em - I ain't no Deryni, but I don't hate 'em like some folks do - so they don't say nuffink when they know I'm around. But word on th' street is it's sumfin' big. Ever'body in the Haitch-Ay f'r miles around's s'posed t' turn up f'r it when it happens. An' there's sumfin' 'bout gas masks, I think. Some o' the lads 'ere's been offered a few marks f'r stuff like nicking stuff f'r 'em. They ain't took th' money, mos'ly, that I know of, but it's temptin'. It's good money they're payin', Father."

"What sort of stuff are they being paid to steal?"

"Like I said, gas masks. Also body armor, p'rtective amulets, them portable shield things that're s'posed t' be sumfin' like Deryni wards f'r humans, tha' sort o' thing. Pricy shi - stuff, Father. It's like they're gearin' up f'r a fight or sumfin'."

Devlin's mind raced, trying to sort through the possibilities of what sort of plot might be in the works. "You mentioned gas masks. Have you heard any particular sorts of gas being mentioned in particular? Acrinious gas, perhaps?" Dear God in Heaven, he hoped not! Another acrinious gas attack of the sort that had been launched in the Camberian Council chamber, but on a scale large enough to affect the entire Cathedral, was a nightmare he did not wish to contemplate. Though surely even as dedicated a terrorist group as Humanity Ascendant wouldn't wish to endanger so many of its own cell members, much less all the human mourners likely to be at the funeral, by using that particular form of attack at a state funeral. Would they?

Toby's brow furrowed. "I don't think so, Father. I ain't heard o' akernious gas, or whatever it was y' said. It was somethin' else, I think. Sumfin' that's s'posed t' make Deryni easy t' kill off, but not hurt reg'lar people, or only make 'em very sleepy. I can't r'member it now. Starts with an Em, I think."

 _Merasha gas?_ It was possible, Devlin knew, however unlikely under normal circumstances. The Camberian Council had heard rumors of merasha gas being developed for military and anti-terrorist applications, and reportedly being stockpiled in a variety of locations in the event some need should occur to quell a Deryni uprising. The Council had not been able to verify the rumors, but if they were true, could Humanity Ascendant members have found the stockpiles first, or possibly even been involved in the development of a gaseous form of merasha? Devlin felt ill at the very thought of merasha being released into an unsuspecting population on a national day of mourning. This was something that the Council would need to know about immediately, especially James. The Duke of Corwyn, as the Queen's Champion and heir, would need to know as well. And Her Majesty needed to know the seriousness of the threat that they might be facing at the end of the week.

Only five days to prepare themselves. Dear God, have mercy!

"Thank you, Toby. If you can remember anything else that might be related, please let me know. Do you have my phone number?"

The lad nodded, wide-eyed. "Ye'll tell th' Queen, Father? Keep 'er safe from 'em?"

"Absolutely. Now if you'll excuse me, Toby," said Father Devlin with a glance towards his prie-dieu, "I believe there's Someone Else I'd better consult with as well."

* * *

 _Late afternoon  
Rooftop of the Green Tower  
Coroth Castle  
December 26, 2021_

"All right, I had Martha hold all my calls, now let's see what mischief we can get up to on the roof. Are you zipped up tight?" The Duke of Corwyn directed Jen up a tight spiral staircase as he spoke, bringing up the rear to help break her fall should she slip. "Mind the steps - some have got slippery from centuries of use. If you stay next to the wall, the stone's less worn there." He had to admit, he did not mind checking out Jen's rear view at all.

"I think I'll be warm enough," said Jen, checking the closures on her coat to be sure.

"The roof's warded, so the breezes mainly slip around the tower roof rather than directly over it, but some of the wintry chill still gets through. That coat should be fine, though." He reached over her shoulder to press his palm against a door sensor, unlocking the rooftop door. They emerged into the sunlit space of the roof, taking a moment to let their eyes adjust to the shift from dimly lit staircase to the bright outdoors.

Once their eyes had adjusted, Morgan led Jen to the side of the tower overlooking the city and bay below. "All right, here's a view of the city that few folks ever see. It's not the Coroth of Alaric's day, to be sure, but what do those historian's eyes see?"

Jen surveyed the urban sprawl before her before unzipping her coat long enough to reach into a breast pocket for a folded chart. Unfolding it on one of the stone crenellations before her, she studied the street layout again, comparing it with an early map of Coroth. The original of the map she held did not date quite as far back as Duke Alaric's day - it had been commissioned by his grandson, if memory served - but it would suffice.

"The street layout has changed significantly, but these main thoroughfares are still here," she replied, tracing them on the map as she spoke, "albeit with the occasional small detour. I wonder how many of these buildings that are named on the map still exist in downtown Coroth or the port area? Precious few now, I'd imagine."

Morgan angled his head to read the difficult script. After a few moments' perusal, he pointed out one building that had been near the heart of Ancient Coroth. "This one still exists, I think, at least if that's the inn I'm thinking of. The Great Dragon was in a bad state of disrepair about fifteen or twenty years ago and was scheduled to be torn down after centuries of being in use as pretty much everything from a public house to a brothel. The owner of the Astari hotel chain was looking at the neighborhood to build a secondary franchise of the Royal Astari Coroth there, but once he learned the building's history, he changed his original plan and had it restored to a medieval-style inn and dining establishment. It's more of a B&B style living history establishment now, catering to tourists who want to get a sense of what it was like to stay in a medieval inn centuries ago - although hopefully without the lice and bedbugs, or sleeping six to a bed! And of course it's got the usual sanitary amenities nowadays - no pisspots under the beds or cesspits out in the back garden." He arched an eyebrow at her. "You might enjoy a stay there sometime; it's nicely done, from what I've heard, and supposedly more accurately researched than those Medieval Jousts restaurants popping up in major cities here and there."

"It wouldn't be too difficult to be more accurate than _those,"_ Jen allowed, rolling her eyes expressively. "Although those can be fun too, if one is willing to suspend disbelief by the neck until it's dead, but this one sounds like it would be more my cup of tea."

Morgan, standing slightly behind and to one side of Jen, shielded his eyes to peer out at some of the more distant landmarks on the skyline. "Over there is Eskill Head, the upper entrance to the Bay of Coroth. You can just see what remains of Great Roderick, the lighthouse that would have been there in old Alaric's day. That was once the largest lighthouse in Mooryn. A good spot for a picnic, if you come back here in the warmer months, although the fort on the other side of the bay is in better condition. It's part of the Coroth Bay Historical Museum now."

"I've read that there used to be an iron chain that was strung across the mouth of the bay during wartime to keep enemy shipping out and assist in the city's defense," Jen said.

"Ah yes, _Restrainer."_ He stretched out a hand, tracing a line in the air between two granite jetties. "It stretched from there to there; you can still see the rust stains in the stone where the original chain was anchored, although the original iron work has long since rusted to the point of being unsuited for the original purpose anymore. It served the city well while it lasted, though."

Morgan swept an arm to one side. "There were lush forests in that area - long since gone, but the lumber industry thrived for a few centuries after Alaric's time. And of course some landmarks aren't going away anytime soon. Saint Matthew's Cathedral's worth a visit. And you may fancy some of the shopping down by Saint Matthew's Gate, though I promise I have nothing to do with the extortionate prices you're likely to find there." He pointed out those features in the cityscape below. "I think they set their pricing specially for gouging wealthy Americian tourists."

An especially strong gust of wind blew over them, setting the flags on their poles high atop the tower to flapping wildly. The mostly invisible ward shielded them from the worst of the icy blast, but Jen folded her arms tightly over her chest to ward off the increased chill. Morgan pulled her back against him - to help keep her back warm, he told himself. After a surprised glance up at him, she allowed him to enfold her in his protective embrace. He extended his personal shields around them both.

"Better?" he asked. "I wouldn't want you to catch a chill out here. Maybe we should head back inside where it's warmer."

"I - If you'd prefer. This is fine, though." Jen's cheeks went slightly pink, to his amusement. He decided he rather liked sheltering feisty Americian historians. This one, at any rate. "Aren't you afraid some paparazzi photographer will spot us, and you'll end up on the cover of some tabloid rag, though? 'Duke Romances Unknown Americian?' You might not want to feed the gossip sheets."

Morgan laughed. "How are the photographers supposed to know you're Americian from a distance, are you going to start waving your flag?" He gave her shoulders a slight squeeze. "Besides, one of the benefits of the wards is that they're camera-proof. We have a clear view out, but from the outside all they can see is the illusion of an empty rooftop. I could be dancing naked up here under every full moon for all the paparazzi know; they wouldn't be able to see a thing."

"I'll put that on my calendar then," Jen teased. "Come back with a video camera at the August full moon."

He laughed. "Come on, you. Let's see if I can find you some other interesting sights in a room with some hot drinks and a roaring fire. Preferably something you can enjoy gawping at without me having to shed any of my dignity."

"Too late." Jen grinned as she followed him back to the spiral stair.

* * *

 _Late afternoon  
Coroth Castle Security Room  
December 26, 2021_

Jeannie FitzWilliam was slightly bored, but that was par for the course when staffing the security cameras at Coroth Castle, as she happened to be doing that day. Nothing truly exciting ever happened, aside from occasionally spotting some medical emergency or the sort of chance mishap that might occur anywhere, though she remained vigilant nonetheless, not simply because of the heightened state of alert in the entire Kingdom just now, but also because if something unexpected _did_ chance to occur, she didn't want anything bad happening on her watch.

The camera pickup on the Green Tower rooftop appeared on her monitor, showing the Duke's beautiful Americian houseguest leaning cozily against his chest, from the look of things. Jeannie suppressed a pang of wistful envy and moved on to the next screen.

The corridors of Coroth's ancient Keep appeared to be as peaceful as always, the cameras there showing nothing out of the ordinary sorts of activity there. Although wait - there was something odd! Jeannie tried to focus the camera in on one particular spot, but saw nothing there but a slight blur.

 _There shouldn't be a blur hovering in the middle of an otherwise empty corridor,_ Jeannie thought to herself as she double-checked the location of that camera's view. Once she'd verified which door the blur was hovering outside of, her inner alarms began to sound off even more insistently. She paged the castle steward. "Martha, there appears to be a warded intruder on the high security corridor in the Keep. I'm seeing a blur outside of that Camberian woman's door."

Martha's voice replied promptly. "Call for backup, Jeannie. I'm on my way."

* * *

 _Late afternoon  
Coroth Castle Keep  
December 26, 2021_

Heather, deeply ensconced within Caroline Whitfield's mind at the moment, was jarred from her concentration by the unexpected click of the door lock. She broke the psychic link with her patient, pulling back just in time from the Camberian woman's mind to catch a fleeting glimpse of the new arrival before she found herself shoved back forcefully against the nearest wall as if by an invisible hand.

The intruder - Heather got the impression of a tall male, although she'd collided with the wall hard enough to have had the wind knocked out of her - grabbed Caroline's arm. The patient put up a fleeting resistance, attempting to pull away. The man spoke an odd phrase - probably one of the trigger phrases meant to bring up the Alisandra personality - but Heather was gratified to see that the assassin's personality failed to respond. She and Karim had done _that_ right, at least.

She slid down the wall, finally catching her breath again with a loud hitch, which drew her assailant's attention to her again. He raised a hand toward her, and she flinched, instinctively flaring her personal shields in self-defense. _Sweet Saint Camber, please defend me; I have a child!_ she thought as a blast of magical energy seared the air around her.

Fearing for her life now, but feeling she had no choice but to stand her ground and fight, not simply for herself but also for her patient's sake, Heather attempted to stand, but another blast of energies sent her sprawling once more. Her shields weakening, she briefly thought of trying to summon up enough defensive energy to send back the man's way, but she was afraid she might harm Caroline in the energy surge as well. On the other hand, whatever the man was up to was surely not going to be in Caroline's best interests anyway. First, do no harm - but which of them was likely to do her patient the worst harm?

Caroline had stopped resisting. The man took advantage of her lack of resistance to guide her towards the open door. She followed, docile as a lamb. Heather, finally ignored by the departing intruder, stumbled to her feet and attempted to follow them, making it halfway to the door before passing out.

* * *

 _Late afternoon  
The Duke's private apartment  
The Green Tower  
Coroth Castle  
December 26, 2021_

Morgan casually muttered a few words under his breath as he waved a finger at the hearth in his private study, causing a blazing fire to spring up in the fireplace in mere seconds. With a mischievous smile at Jen, he flicked the fingertip at the flames once more. Jen saw a brief pyrotechnic display of dancing green gryphons in the otherwise normal flames and laughed out loud.

"Show off!"

"I'll admit it, I've been dying to show off that particular trick for months," Morgan said with a grin as he took her coat and offered her a seat before hanging her coat beside his on a nearby rack. "Do you recognize what this room is?"

Jen took a look around the comfortably appointed room. It was decorated in an eclectic mixture of styles, a blend of the personal tastes of several centuries of inhabitants, but a rare few of the room's _objets d'art_ she thought might date back as far as Duke Alaric's day, not to mention the seven tell-tale green windows. "This wouldn't have been Duke Alaric's study at one time, would it?"

"Exactly. And for that matter, it's been put to that use by nearly every Duke of Coroth since then, and possibly before his time as well, for all we know." He smiled fondly at the familiar surroundings. "It's my favorite room in the old heap."

A miniature portrait on Morgan's desk caught her eye and she crossed over to give it a closer look rather than sitting. "This is lovely! Who is this?"

"Ah. That is the beauteous Duchess Richenda. Alaric was a very lucky man. Given the shifts in what passed for fashionable standards of beauty throughout the ages, some of the 'famous beauties' of previous eras look pretty dire to me, but Richenda there could still win some modern beauty contests, I'd think. I suppose you'll want to see their children as well? Give me half a sec, I might be able to turn up some other portraits for you." He went to a cabinet with a set of shallow drawers, opening them one at a time until he found the one he wanted. Lifting out a tray, he brought it to her.

Face up on a velvet background, several miniature portraits shone up at her, their colors nearly jewel-like in their brilliance even after nearly a millennium. Recognizing the appreciation in Jen's eyes, Morgan added, "My art conservator is first rate." Pointing out the various faces as he described them, he added, "We believe that one is Duke Kelric, probably painted several years after Duke Alaric's death judging by the period of his clothing and the fact that he's wearing the Ducal ring. This pair of fair lasses may have been Briony and Grania Morgan, and of course that one is another portrait of Alaric himself. The strawberry blond here in the Marley colors would be Richenda's son Brendan Coris. And the man wearing the episcopal purple was almost certainly Duke Alaric's cousin Bishop Duncan McLain. They were almost more brothers than cousins." He thought of his own cousin Prince Kelric with a twinge of momentary grief.

"Wow." Jen itched to pick up the miniatures, but settled for clasping her fingers together in a firm attempt to leave them untouched and unharmed. "That is one handsome bishop. I might need a confessor now," she joked. "Those amazing blue eyes!"

"He had that effect, it seems. There's a letter downtown at the Museum that was sent to Duke Alaric from Bishop McLain, basically inviting himself to Coroth Castle for a week or two in 1137, ostensibly on the King's business, although he mentions needing to get away from an annoyingly persistent admirer for a few days before he strangles her." Morgan laughed. "Maybe not the most Christian of thoughts, though I can empathize with the temptation."

"Because you've had to fend off a fair few persistent women yourself?" Jen asked.

Morgan shrugged. "Well, that too, I suppose, though those are title-chasers, mainly. Easy enough to ignore."

Jen privately thought he underestimated his own attractions, but she didn't want to come across as a title-chaser, so she said nothing.

"Well, now," he said, crossing over to a small wet-bar, "what's your poison of choice? I have beer, wine, cider, Cassani whisky, Torenthi-" She never found out what imported drink he had from Torenth, for there was a knock on the door just at that moment. "Your Grace," said a voice just beyond it, "I'm sorry to interrupt you, but it's urgent, sir."

He moved swiftly towards the door, opening it to admit the steward whom Jen had met upon their arrival earlier that morning. "Yes, Martha, what is it?"

"Jeannie FitzWilliam has spotted what appears to be an intruder in the corridor outside of the Camberian woman's room on D Floor. We've dispatched Security to have a look, but I thought you'd wish to be notified as well."

"Yes, definitely. I'm on my way." Reaching into a desk drawer, he pulled out a couple of items and pocketed them. "Head on over, Martha; I'll take the passage route. It's a little less direct, but an intruder wouldn't be expecting someone to walk in on him through the wall." Turning to Jen, he added, "This might be nothing, but it could be dangerous. I'd suggest staying put. I'll come up or send someone else up to let you know when it's safe to come out."

Jen stood. "Heather's in there. I'm going with you. You might need back-up."

Morgan considered arguing the point, but there wasn't the time to spare. "You told me once that you can shoot a gun, right?"

"Yes."

He reached into the drawer again, pulling out a holstered pistol. "Only use this if you absolutely must. I'd rather you don't use it at all, actually, but considering what we might be up against, I don't want you going into that situation unarmed. Oh, and take this." Handing her the gun, he reached for the hems of his sweater and undershirt, pulling them off over his head and starting to pull the undershirt on over her clothes.

"What-?"

"I'll explain later," he snapped. "Wear it. Let's go." He waved a hand at a section of wall, which slid aside quietly to reveal a hidden passage beyond it.

* * *

 _Late afternoon  
Coroth Keep access corridor  
December 26, 2021_

Morgan went into light trance just long enough to focus his concentration on the walnut-sized shiral crystal he'd pulled from his trouser pocket, using it to view what was happening on the other side of the door. He didn't want to emerge in plain sight of the intruder, after all, unless there was no other way around that. The room appeared empty at first, but then he spotted a crumpled form on the floor. Biting back a curse, he whispered to Jen, "I see Heather. I don't see anyone else in the room with her, but I'll enter first to make sure it's safe. Once I tell you it's clear, I'll need you to remain in the room to tend to her. Shut the door behind you; wouldn't hurt to lock it either. He probably found a way through the lock, but unlocking it a second time would slow him down, not that I think he'd have any reason to want back in unless he wants to take a hostage. So keep your head down and don't be a hostage. Got it?"

At Jen's silent nod, Morgan slipped out the passage door and into the room, doing a brief recon before returning. "All right, it's clear. Heather's still alive, but she looks to be out cold."

"I know first aid," Jen whispered. "Go!"

He left, casting his senses beyond the room's main entrance before venturing carefully down the corridor towards where he heard a clamor of voices. The security team had apparently reached the staircase just before his arrival, and it sounded like his quarry might be trapped within. Morgan smiled grimly as he headed that way.

* * *

 _Late afternoon  
Coroth Castle Security Room  
December 26, 2021_

Jeannie FitzWilliam gave a low whistle as the shirtless and extremely hot Duke of Corwyn entered her camera view. A second later, the implications of his state of undress occurred to her. "Oh, crap!"

"What's wrong?" Richard Weaver, one of the other security team members, asked her.

"Man the cameras, would you? His Grace is unarmored. Gotta fix that. Be right back." Slipping out of the control room, Jeannie sprinted up the stairs towards Morgan's private apartments.

* * *

 _Late afternoon  
Coroth Keep East Staircase  
December 26, 2021_

Morgan drew the small weapon he'd pocketed earlier along with his shiral crystal and thumbed the safety off. Flaring his personal shields, he changed their color wavelength from their customary green to a less obtrusive pale yellow which might have been taken for sunlight shining down on the spiral staircase walls from the windows several floors above before venturing a peek around the central axis of the spiral to the level below.

The intruder stood cornered (if one could call it that within a round stairwell) on the third level landing, his downward progress apparently impeded by Morgan's security team coming up at him from below. The man held Morgan's Camberian patient like a human shield, holding her against him with his left arm and keeping her between himself and the wall while holding something in his right hand. From his vantage point, Morgan couldn't see what he held, but he assumed it was probably a weapon of some sort.

The man dropped whatever he held down the staircase. It clinked down the stone steps, the sound sounding ominously familiar to Morgan's ears, but before he could react a high pitched chime of sound, nearly inaudible, filled the stairwell, followed by a brilliant flash. Morgan leaned back swiftly, closing his eyes against the flash of light out of instinct before opening them again. His vision swarmed with black spots, though his ears told him that the quarry was on the move again, from the sound of things probably through the third floor landing door and out into the corridor. Glancing up at one of the stairwell cameras, he told his security team in the control room, "Lock down the entire Keep if you've not done so already!" before heading down the stairs in swift pursuit.

* * *

 _Late afternoon  
Coroth Keep West Staircase  
December 26, 2021_

Jeannie knew that her cameras had last spotted the Deryni intruder making for the East Staircase, so she headed down the West Staircase instead. She knew the Duke would be making his attack on the invader from behind, so she attempted to gauge which level she needed to approach him from in order to get him suited up safely. He'd have made it down to the third level by now at least, surely? She'd start there, then, and with any luck he'd be directly below her once she got to the other end of the corridor to peek down the East Tower stairwell for him. She could deliver his shirt with its magical protections embroidered into the green gryphon insignia on its chest and return to her station knowing she'd helped ensure his safety. She wondered what he'd done with the protective shirt he'd been wearing that morning. He'd not been alone with the Americian woman in his private study long enough for her to have had half his kit off already, surely! She suppressed a twinge of jealousy; she had no claim on the duke's affections, and she needed her mind in the game just now, not speculating on what might or might not be going on between her employer and his foreign guest.

Jeannie emerged from the stairwell into the third floor corridor of the Keep. She was startled to discover the intruder mere feet in front of her, his movements hampered by the woman he was half-guiding, half-dragging along with him. She clutched the Duke's shirt protectively against her chest with her left hand as she reached for her firearm with her right, but he was faster than she was. There was a loud bang and a flash, and Jeannie went flying backwards, her head and back slamming hard against the door through which she'd just entered. Her last conscious sight was of the Duke of Corwyn flying down the corridor towards her and her attacker, his hand rising as he charged. He was holding a weapon of some sort, although before she could make out what he held, her world faded to black and she crumpled to the floor.

* * *

 _Late afternoon  
Third Floor Corridor  
Coroth Keep  
December 26, 2021_

Seeing Jeannie crash against the landing door and slump to the floor, Morgan lunged forward, his finger tightening on the trigger of the ECD he held as the device's sights aligned with his target. Not that Morgan was using those sights; instead, he relied on that inner sense that he used when shooting blindfolded on the rifle range. His target whirled, gun in hand, its circular trajectory swinging into position to aim towards Morgan, but the twin projectiles from Morgan's ECD reached their goal first, their barbed ends sinking into the intruder's skin, completing the electrical circuit that sent muscle-locking electrical pulses coursing through the target's body, disrupting all voluntary muscle control. The electrical pulses were not the only source of disruption affecting the man's nervous system; Morgan's probes were also tipped with merasha, making them doubly-effective against even the strongest Deryni's attempts to resist the weapon's effects upon the neurological system.

It was, he mused, a crude yet effective weapon, and although he'd have gained a savage satisfaction out of simply killing the intruder outright in his momentary rage, the more rational part of Morgan's mind accepted that the less lethal ECD was a preferable weapon under the circumstances. He wanted this bastard alive - alive and able to answer questions. And then, once he had answers to those questions, justice would be served. But that justice would be served by legal means. Sophia had enough on her plate at the moment without Morgan handing her a ready-made international incident in which she might feel the need to defend her cousin and current heir from a murder charge. Not that the charge would have been legitimate even if Morgan _had_ needed to kill the man - the security camera footages would show it had been a clear-cut case of self-defense. But there were certain elements of society who were impervious to all reason where any acts of violence involving Deryni were concerned, and he saw no need to play into those unreasonable people's hands.

Alaric Morgan, he reflected, had been born in a much simpler day in some ways after all, despite the risks of Deryni burnings. No one would have dared to question the Darkling Duke's legal right to deal with a castle intruder with murderous intent as he saw fit. Then again, Morgan decided as several more security guards came bursting through the door behind him to secure the man and his cataleptic hostage and take them both into custody, at least his staff didn't have any blood and gore to clean up after. Perhaps there was something to be said for modern life after all, despite its occasional annoyances.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

 _Early evening  
The Dining Room  
Tre-Arilan  
December 26, 2021_

"I thought we weren't planning on meeting again this soon?" Lady Alicia Coris groused as she took her place at the makeshift Council table. "And wasn't there some plan for having our Council chamber fully secured in time for our next meeting?"

"That was the hope," James Arilan confirmed, "But you know what they say about best laid plans. Personally, I'd love to have my dining room back - it's a good thing I didn't have a dinner party planned for this evening! - but once you hear Father Devlin's news, I think you'll agree this couldn't wait. We're just waiting on Lady Violet to arrive."

"In that case, you need wait no longer, dear boy. I am here." Violet Estridge took the remaining seat at the table.

"All right," Peter Astari said, "Let's hear this urgent news, then. Unlike you, James, Maureen and I _did_ have dinner plans tonight."

Everyone turned toward Father Devlin. He regarded them soberly. "I have been informed this afternoon that agents of Humanity Ascendant are planning some sort of disruption on the day of the Royal Funeral, and that whatever is in the works will involve another gas attack. This time, however, the toxin used will not be acrinious gas, but most likely something more Deryni-specific." His blue eyes swept the circle of faces around the table. "Word on the street is that Humanity Ascendant will launch a merasha gas attack designed to debilitate all of the Deryni present for the funeral, and that all of the HA cells in the greater Rhemuth area have been called upon to muster up and equip themselves for this attack. Now that she has been Empowered, the potential victims of such an attack would include the Queen as well. We must find out more about this plot so that we can stop yet another terrorist attack from happening."

There was a brief tumult of loud reaction in the room, but once the outcry began to die down, Elspeth asked, "Do you think there is any chance of a postponement until Anti-Terrorism gets to the bottom of this? Surely they'll have heard word of such activities by now and are already doing something about it? But I'd think a public safety threat is more important than a bunch of religious mumbo jumbo, anyway, so can't the Cathedral ceremony just wait a bit longer?"

"Hopefully Anti-Terrorism have heard some reports already and are doing something about it, although just in case they've not, I plan to call in a report as soon as this meeting is over," Father Devlin said. "I can't imagine there'd be that much sudden activity involving an organization like the HA without Anti-Terrorism sitting up and taking note, though if they _are_ doing something about it, I don't think they've notified Her Majesty of the danger yet, which makes me really wonder why. I'd have thought she'd be the first person they'd report any hint of a threat to. As to a postponement of the funeral, though, that's another matter entirely. I don't get the sense that our new Queen is one to give in to terrorists, although granted, the fact that a plot of this sort would affect every Deryni in attendance, not simply herself, might sway her decision."

"I agree," James said. "I think she'd wish to proceed with caution, but we can hardly postpone the funeral indefinitely, and that may actually be what Humanity Ascendant is hoping to do. The Kingdom would have difficulty bringing full closure to the previous reign before the ceremonial laying to rest of our late Queen, and without that sense of closure, it would be difficult to plan ahead for the Coronation. Not to mention we _need_ to have a Coronation sometime in the near future, yet even if the Queen should decide on changing the funeral date, or having a closed service and only allowing the public to view a broadcast rather than paying their respects in person, that would only mean Humanity Ascendant would likely shift their plans to Coronation, or the Queen's Birthday, or whatever other large public gathering might be planned in future. So I don't think HM is likely to shift her schedule around the possibility that someone might use the occasion as an opportunity to create mayhem. Taking precautions to protect HM as well as the public despite the known threat, however, _that_ I can see happening."

"We need to have our own plan in place," Peter Astari opined, "just in case Anti-Terrorism somehow manages to drop the ball on this."

"Father Devlin, when you _do_ report to the authorities," said Maureen thoughtfully, "I would suggest you contact my son-in-law Patrick Adams to do so. I believe he is still at Eirian House, so that might be most convenient for you anyway, but if you simply ring it in to Police Headquarters, I'm not entirely sure I'd trust the A-T Chief to take your warning seriously. He's notoriously suspicious of Deryni; even if he wouldn't fully condone the Humanity Ascendant plot, he may have some sympathies toward a group of people who want to 'put Deryni in their place,' or 'keep them in line,' as he might see it."

"Surely he wouldn't be supportive on an attack on the Queen, though?" Lady Violet protested. "It's one thing to be anti-Deryni and quite another to condone treason! Surely the man's not _that_ stupid?"

"I assure you as a Deryni who has had the dubious pleasure of working with him, he is quite nearly that stupid," Lady Alicia stated. "Although he probably wouldn't view it as condoning treason. Actually, he might get it in his head that allowing a merasha attack to take place would be doing Her Majesty a favor by pre-empting any renegade Deryni from trying anything on with her while she is outside the safety of Eirian House. Remember, the public thinks of Her Majesty as Haldane, not Deryni, and they don't always have it fixed firmly in their heads that there is a great deal of overlap in what that means, both genetically speaking and in terms of powers manifested. As long as the Chief thinks of HM as 'one of us' rather than 'one of them,' it may not even occur to him until too late that the Queen would be made equally vulnerable in a merasha attack. So no, I don't think he'd knowingly condone treason, but yes, in my opinion he really _is_ that stupid, or at least that ignorant of the possible consequences of inaction."

* * *

 _Early evening  
Coroth Keep, Fourth Level  
December 26, 2021_

"What hap-?" A flash of memory returned to Heather as she sat up and took in her surroundings. Jennifer DeLisle hovered anxiously over her. "Wait, where's my patient?" She struggled to stand, but was stopped by Jen.

"No, wait, it's not safe! His Grace said to remain in here and keep the door locked until he returns or sends someone to let us know it's safe to open it. There's an intruder in the Castle . . . ." Examining at the bump at the back of Heather's head, Jen added, "Though I suppose you already know that."

"Yes." Heather closed her eyes and did a quick self-assessment. She felt drained, but that was to be expected, given the sudden expenditure of power required to shield herself from her attacker's psionic energy blast. She'd hit the wall with a fair amount of force as well, although her self-examination reassured her that she had not suffered any fractures or concussion, just some bruising. It had been the pain of the energy blast and the sudden shock to her system caused by that and by the force of slamming into the wall that had caused her to pass out, not any serious injury. She'd been extremely fortunate, all things considered. Or just maybe Saint Camber had heard her prayer after all.

"Who was my attacker, do you know?" Heather asked. "I think he picked this room specifically; he was after Mrs Whitfield. All I can remember is that he was tall and had an accent. Camberian, I think."

"I don't know who he was," Jen stated, "though I'm sure His Grace will soon find out."

Heather stared at Jen curiously. "Is that His Grace's undershirt?"

Jen blushed, belatedly remembering Morgan's odd actions before they'd entered the secret passage in pursuit of the intruder. "Um, yes. I have no idea why he - ah - lent it to me."

"I think _I_ do. Ancient Derry area protective magic." Heather touched the embroidered gryphon on Jen's chest with a fingertip to confirm her guess. "Tell me he's wearing a matching shirt?"

Jen's blush deepened. "Um, no, there wasn't time. He just went in shirtless."

"Oh, crap!" Heather grabbed Jen's hand. "Help me up; I'm sure someone's going to need a Healer soon, and let's just pray it's not going to be His Grace."

* * *

 _Early evening  
Coroth Keep, Third Level Corridor  
December 26, 2021_

"Jeannie FitzWilliam, you daft little idiot," Morgan muttered as he checked on his fallen staff member, "don't you dare die on me, or I'll kill you!" Despite the harsh threat, his touch was gentle as he checked her pulse and breathing before prying her fingers off the spare undershirt she held. His face paled as he noticed a few torn fibers, and he unbuttoned the top buttons of her uniform shirt to check her for further injury. A dark bruise above her heart area confirmed his suspicions. She'd taken a bullet, or would have had she not been clutching his shirt against her chest at the moment of impact.

Blood trickled down the back of her scalp and neck, and at the moment that worried him even more.

He considered carrying her to the castle infirmary, but he was afraid to move her. But then he remembered there was a Healer one floor up, at least if she had regained consciousness. If not, then _she'd_ need medical help too, but first things first.

His steward Martha arrived on the scene, and Morgan rose to his feet. "Keep an eye on Jeannie; I'm going up to let Jen know it's safe to come out and see if Healer O'Flynn is in any condition to help out here. But just in case she's not, please summon the physician on call as well."

"I'm on it, sir," Martha replied, her two-way radio at the ready.

* * *

 _Early Evening  
Coroth Castle Infirmary  
December 26, 2021_

The medics arrived on scene to move Jeannie onto a gurney and transport her to the castle infirmary just after Morgan went upstairs to check on Heather's condition. He unlocked the secured room to find Heather conscious and eager to check on her patient. Caroline Whitfield was in the infirmary as well, so after a quick check to ensure the Healer was truly as unharmed as she claimed, Morgan escorted her and Jen to that area of the castle.

Heather used a fatigue-banishing spell to ease the exhausted feeling brought on by the energy drain of having to defend herself against her attacker. She knew she would sleep like the dead later, but for now it was necessary; she'd be of little use to anyone if she couldn't function properly as a Healer.

"Where is the physician on call?" Morgan asked as soon as they'd arrived at the infirmary.

"He's checking on those two patients you bug-zapped, sir," said a medic, "but he'll be heading straight back here to attend to Jeannie."

"Healer O'Flynn is here, if you could show her where Jeannie is, and then she may require some medical assistance as well. Whether or not she objects," he added as he saw Heather open her mouth to do just that. Heather, realizing it would be useless to argue, stifled the protest she was about to make. It wouldn't hurt to accept a bit of analgesic pain relief, she decided, rather than expend any more healing energy on herself than was absolutely necessary.

"Yes, sir. Right this way, ma'am."

Jeannie's injuries, it turned out, were worse than her own, yet not nearly as severe as they might have been, Heather decided once she compared the bruising on Jeannie's chest with the amount of damage done to the undershirt that the Duke of Corwyn had retrieved from her patient and was now wearing. There was a section of fabric on the right sleeve cap that was only lightly frayed, but given Heather's knowledge of how the protective magic stitched into that undershirt worked, that meant that the bullet the shirt had deflected was fired at point blank range and would likely have killed Jeannie instantly had she not been protected by the arcane stitchery. She also had a concussion and a skull fracture - from the look and feel of the injury, she'd probably banged her head on the door handle behind her with great force as she'd been knocked backwards by the bullet's impact.

These more serious injuries would need to be dealt with first. Heather slipped into a Healing trance, and with a quick prayer to Saint Camber began to work, stopping the bleeding and moving the bone fragments back into place.

* * *

 _Early evening  
A secure room near the infirmary  
Coroth Castle  
December 26, 2021_

She couldn't explain what had just happened to her, what it was that had brought a sudden mental clarity even as it had jolted excruciating pain through every fiber of her being, but for the first time in years she felt almost . . . whole? Was this what wholeness felt like? Maybe that wasn't the word she was looking for, not exactly, but she was no longer lost in a fog, trapped somewhere within her own mind, a helpless prisoner of her body. She was self-aware again, but more than that, she was back in full control of herself in a way that she hadn't been in a long time. Even when she'd thought she'd been in her right mind, she now recognized there'd been that other malignant presence lurking deep beneath her conscious self, the presence that she'd been unaware of but which had lain dormant until awakened to take complete control of her. That presence was still there, its memories fully available for her to access, yet now it felt locked away somehow, encapsulated beneath protective shields. Protective to herself, that is - to Caroline Alisandra Sheraton, her _real_ self. Or perhaps to Caroline Whitfield - here in Gwynedd she supposed that was now her legal name, not that the poor man her half-self had married was likely to want her back after what she'd done to him!

The malignant form of Alisandra was still there, deeply buried like an entombed viper, but Caroline Sheraton-Whitfield had full control now. She did not intend to ever give it up again.

Fragmentary memories of the past few days flitted through her mind, and she assembled the pieces one by one until she had strung them into a sequence that made sense. She heard the click of the door lock and opened her eyes to find a man in scrubs and a white lab coat approaching her.

"Are you a doctor, sir?" she asked, her first fully lucid question in some time.

"I am. You've had a very nasty jolt. I need to check your vital signs. How are you feeling?"

"I feel . . . wonderfully aware." She smiled. "Is this Coroth Castle?"

The doctor paused, but evidently decided there would be no harm in answering the question. "It is."

 _The enemy of my enemy is my friend,_ Caroline reminded herself, _or at least a powerful potential ally._ "Then could you arrange for me to see the Duke of Corwyn?"

* * *

 _Early evening  
Another high security room  
Coroth Castle  
December 26, 2021_

The prisoner, Morgan had been told, was doing as well as any man might be expected to do who'd just received a severe jolt to his neurological system while under the influence of merasha. Morgan could not quite find it in himself to be sympathetic, under the circumstances.

He faced the man now, his pale green eyes sizing up the bleary-eyed stranger before him. Despite the drug coursing through his bloodstream - or perhaps because of it - the man's expression was hostile. No surprise there.

"Who are you?" Morgan asked, a steely note of Truth-Say in his voice. He could sense the man's attempt to resist the command in his voice, but the merasha in his system made his resistance vulnerable and his shields fragmentary.

"T-Torrence, Gr-gregory M."

Interesting. Most civilians would probably have named themselves by first name then surname, Morgan mused; was this man in a military branch or some other form of service? "Who sent you, Torrence?"

The man's eyes widened briefly before he passed out. Morgan cursed. Whoever had sent him had probably placed him under a compulsion not to share that information. He attempted a brief psychic probe to see if he could slip inside the fragmenting shields long enough to obtain the information he needed, but within a split second he realized that he couldn't sustain a mental link without the merasha disruption affecting him also. He withdrew.

Morgan studied the unconscious man, a grim expression on his face. He strongly suspected that Torrence's master must be the same person who had created the Caroline/Alisandra multiple. Someone somewhere - probably in Camberia - wanted his asset back, and had sent Torrence to find her. That someone, Morgan now suspected thanks to Karim's information, was possibly the heir to the Camberian throne, Malcolm Atherton-Haldane, but he needed more tangible proof. Whoever their master was, it was certain he was no friend to Gwynedd. Morgan could not afford to ignore the threat that the Camberian mastermind presented; if he had two lackeys under his command here in Gwynedd, chances were high there were others as yet undiscovered. What, besides seeking the destruction of the Camberian Council, were they sent here to do?

Whatever else they might have been sent here for, undermining Sophia's hold on the throne of Gwynedd had to be the top priority on their mission list, Morgan was certain. But how could he find out what their exact plans were without setting off the Death-Trigger their master was quite likely ruthless enough to have placed within Torrence's mind, given how many such triggers he'd planted within Caroline/Alisandra? And how much time did he have left to discover the answers that he needed?

There was a discreet knock on the door. "Your Grace?" a voice said from the other side. "One of the other patients is asking to speak with you, sir."

With a snarl of frustration, Morgan left, setting a guard on the door with instructions to inform him the moment the prisoner regained consciousness.

* * *

 _Early evening  
A secure room near the infirmary  
Coroth Castle  
December 26, 2021_

Outwardly Caroline Sheraton-Whitfield looked no different than she ever had, yet there was a serene look to her expression that Morgan had never seen there before. Heather stood behind her, her eyes closed as she held her hands lightly to either side of the patient's head, but as Morgan entered she opened her eyes, an excited glow on her face. "Your Grace, as crazy as this might sound, thank you for the electroshock therapy to my patient." She grinned. "I'm not sure why or how, but the sudden jolt to her neurological system seems to have done something to accelerate her healing. May I give you a proper introduction to Caroline Sheraton-Whitfield, sir? The _real_ Caroline."

"All right . . . . So what does this mean, exactly?"

Caroline stood, dropping into a deep curtsey. "It means I remember who I am now, Your Grace, and everything that has happened to me. And I request political asylum. I will share everything I can remember with you, but I will need your protection if I do."

Morgan raised a skeptical eyebrow. "And why would you do that?" he asked, openly Truth-Reading her.

"Because you are your Queen's Champion. And because I want nothing more than to see your true enemy dead at her feet. Your enemy and mine."

* * *

 _Late evening  
The Queen's Receiving Room  
Eirian House  
December 26, 2021_

Chief Detective Inspector Sir Edmund Arnold stared up at the Queen on her dais in growing alarm. He did not recognize the man standing to her right, although he assumed due to the clerical collar that he must be the Queen's chaplain, but both of them seemed to be favoring him with looks of disapproval, and he hadn't any notion of what he could have done to merit such treatment. He glanced at DI Adams, who had summoned him unceremoniously from his cozy flat just minutes earlier with a "Request and Require" notice and trotted him off to the Public Portal for an urgent meeting here at Eirian House, but Adams hadn't been very forthcoming when pressed for the reason behind Her Majesty's peremptory summons. He'd merely said it was a matter of national security.

He was not left to wonder for long, for as soon as he'd managed to bow to the Queen and stammer out his greeting, she returned his polite words with a cool smile. "Sir Edmund, it's good of you to attend me for this meeting. I am informed through certain other channels that there is a high likelihood that a merasha gas attack on the public is being planned by Humanity Ascendant to coincide with some part of the funeral ceremonies taking place over the next four days. What can you tell me of this threat, and is there a reason why you have not seen fit to inform me of it before now?"

The Chief blanched. "Well, there have been reports of such rumors, to be sure, Ma'am . . . Your Majesty . . . but hardly any credible ones! They've been duly noted, of course, but we could hardly steer too much manpower away from more serious avenues of investigation . . . .

"More serious than a threat to the general public during a State Funeral, sir? How so?"

"Well . . . ah. . . the evidence shows that the Rhemuth Castle bombing was committed by a man named Lloyd O'Malley . . . ."

"Yes, so We have been told, but surely O'Malley's involvement has been proven as much as it can be by now, has it not? His DNA was found at the epicenter of the bomb site, when it shouldn't have been anywhere within hundreds of miles from Rhemuth."

"Uh, yes Ma'am, it has been. And his financial trail is currently under investigation, as Detective Inspector Adams can attest. He's been working that angle quite diligently." He gave a discreet glance around the room, his gaze falling on DI Adams, who confirmed his words with a nod from the corner where he was seated. The Chief frowned, wondering if Her Majesty ever planned on inviting him to sit or if he was to be left standing all night.

"So I don't understand. Are you saying you only have the manpower to focus on a single investigation at a time? What is it that precludes you receiving any new information that might have a bearing on the same case? That is, I assume the reason the HA is mobilizing for my family's funeral is that they hope to complete the job, so one might think _all_ the detectives working the case might have a need to know of new developments? And yet DI Adams tells me he had not been informed of this latest threat until I spoke to him earlier this evening. Why is that, Sir Edmund?"

"Well - ah - we have looked into the new rumors, of course, but there is no reason to suspect Humanity Ascendant of any malice, Ma'am. It's just the sort of innuendo that often comes up at such times of high stress. People start imagining threats where there are none."

"I see. So despite the connection that has been made between Humanity Ascendant and Lloyd O'Malley, you do not think the current threats against Our House are credible? Why not? I assume you've at least looked into whether any of Our military supplies of merasha gas have gone missing?"

The Chief wiped some sweat off his brow. "Well . . . ah . . . I'm afraid that the . . . uh . . . merasha gas supply is still under investigation, but as soon as I have those answers . . . . "

"That _is_ under investigation? That's very good news, sir. Although I return to my earlier question, when were you planning on updating me on the upgraded threat and the updated status of your investigation?" The Queen smiled, although the Chief failed to be reassured since something in her expression put him in mind of a cat toying with a mouse.

He suddenly realized whoever had been putting these thoughts into her head must be some meddling Deryni trying to turn the young and inexperienced Queen's head against her wiser, more experienced, and very loyal human subjects such as himself. He must not allow her to be swayed by such notions as she'd obviously been spoon-fed. Here was his chance to set the record straight.

"Your Majesty, it is obvious to me that you have been been misinformed of the severity of the claims against Humanity Ascendant by some misguided individual or group. I am certain they mean well." He was hardly certain of that at all, actually, but if he meant to placate her, it surely wouldn't hurt to humor her. "But any danger to Your Majesty or the populace has been greatly exaggerated. Humanity Ascendant sometimes use annoying tactics, it is true, in order to engage people in a dialogue on the need for equal rights for humans and Deryni, but they are hardly a terrorist organization. Why in the world would they wish to disrupt the upcoming ceremonies with merasha gas? What purpose would that serve?"

Sophia of Gwynedd stared back at him for a moment, doubtless taking his observation to heart, judging by the arrested look on her face. But then, leaning forward, she asked him, "What purpose did it serve, sir, when they kidnapped Colin O'Malley in order to force his father to wear a suicide bomb into Rhemuth Castle to blow up my family and most of the Royal Household? Damn it, man, can you still think they are _not_ a terrorist organization?"

"But . . . Your Majesty, you simply must be careful who you listen to and leave this investigation to the professionals! There is no credible evidence of those two incidents being related at _all!_ Whoever was behind the O'Malley boy's kidnapping, the two events are almost certainly coincidental, and even if they are not, we have no evidence that the kidnappers were associated with the HA at all!"

"You have no such evidence because none exists, or because you did not bother to look? Because, sir, I have a police report from Marley which differs very markedly from yours in that respect."

He tried to think if he'd seen such a report cross his desk. Well, come to think, there'd been that dossier that had been hand-delivered from Marley HQ by that sexy red-haired Army captain - what was her name again? The forensic geneticist . . . Ah yes, Captain Coris, that was it. But it was all speculative stuff, based on the memories of a traumatized boy and some reports of a civilian Deryni who should not have been mixed up in the matter at all. No doubt he wanted to cast a bad light on the HA, though; many Deryni were against humans taking their proper place in society, after all. Maybe he ought to take a closer look at that file once he returned to the office, just to see what sort of spin was being placed on the investigation by Her Majesty's interfering Deryni advisors.

"Ma'am, you must understand, even if someone claiming to be a member of the HA was involved in that crime, anyone can _claim_ to belong to an organization. But I am far from convinced that any _actual_ Humanity Ascendant members were involved in Colin O'Malley's abduction. Why would Humanity Ascendant seek to commit treason? They are Your Majesty's loyal subjects! It's far easier to believe that the bombing was committed by a rogue Deryni acting alone, or possibly with the aid of other rogue Deryni. All of the evidence points in that direction. O'Malley used to work for the Crown, he was dismissed three years ago for cause, and he's held a grudge ever since. _If_ his son's kidnapping was connected to the bombing in any way, then perhaps other enemies of the Crown might have used that grudge as well as his son as leverage to convince him to act in their shared interests, but that's _no_ reason to implicate Humanity Ascendant in those goings-on. Although _others_ might have wished to implicate them . . . ." He let the implications sink in. Surely she would understand that there were certain elements of society who might wish to place the HA in a bad light to steer the spotlight of close scrutiny away from their own actions.

"I see. Yet the financial trail DI Adams has been pursuing seems to show evidence to the contrary. How do you explain that, sir?"

"Well, he did a preliminary rundown, yes, but it failed to make a case for any actual connections between O'Malley's activities and any actual terrorist groups, so I've asked him to sort through his findings again.."

"Make his findings support your preconceived notions, you mean?"

"Yes, Ma'am . . .I mean _no,_ that's not it at _all!_ But you must admit the evidence needs to line up with the known facts of the matter?"

"Sir, excuse me if I seem to know very little of investigative work, but I was under the impression that the evidence was to be used to _determine_ the facts of the matter? If the 'facts' are merely assumed and the evidence made to fit, how do we know they are indeed _facts?"_ She sighed. "You admit that the rumors of a Humanity Ascendant plot have been reported to you, even though you don't judge the threat to be credible. Who reported those rumors to you, Sir Edmund?"

"Well . . . Ma'am, I believe Detective Inspector Barclay Strachan could tell you more about that angle, for what it's worth. I think it was some street kids in the St George Street precinct who originally called the reports in, but you know how those lads are. Always trying to stir something up for the fun of it."

"And what is DI Strachan's analysis of these reports? Does he take them seriously, or does he think the threat is exaggerated also?"

"Well, Ma'am, I'm certain I've no idea on what he _thinks,_ but he's not brought them up to me again after I informed him there was no need to. He may have kept a file on them, Ma'am."

"I'm certain he has, Ma'am," DI Adams said, speaking up for the first time. The Chief had nearly forgotten he was there! "Strachan tends to keep an open eye and ear out for any leads, no matter how tenuous, and makes careful note of them in case they should prove useful at some point."

"Right then." Sophia steepled her fingers, thinking. "Diana Layton starts as my private secretary tomorrow afternoon after the procession to Rhemuth, but that's leaving things rather too late, so Eilonwy, would you please ring up DI Strachan for an emergency meeting with the Armsman Corps and Eirian House Guard tonight and ask him to come prepared to remain at Eirian House until the end of the week?" She smiled at the Chief. "We'd really like to hear his take on all of this. We would hate to trouble you any further with this matter, Sir Edmund, since you don't believe the threats are credible, but for Our own peace of mind We shall Request DI Strachan to attend Us to determine what additional security measures might need to be brought to bear between now and first light. As for you, Sir Edmund, you are dismissed. Paddy, please show your Chief to the Portal and escort him as far as Rhemuth, though I will need you back here directly once you've brought him through. I assume he will be able to make his way home safely from the station."

* * *

 _Night  
Coroth Castle  
December 26, 2021_

The ketil drip was a risk. The powerful drug would help to neutralize the merasha in the prisoner's system, yet the lack of merasha's disrupting influence could make Torrence more dangerous to his captors, not to mention more resistant to interrogation. So after a brief conference with the visiting Healer, the physician added a few milliliters of pentothane. The pentothane would lower Torrence's inhibitions, making it more difficult for him to resist psychic suggestions or to keep his guard up and his thoughts fully shielded.

Pharmaceuticals were not the only weapons in their arsenal against Torrence's defenses, however.

Torrence awoke to find he was not alone, yet the person in the room with him was neither a medic nor the despised Duke of Corwyn. Instead, the woman he had journeyed to Coroth to find and return to his master sat before him, studying him with a trace of a smile. "It's about time you woke up, Greg." She stood. "Ready to leave?"

He felt groggy, confused. "I'm sorry?"

The Viper gave him an impatient look. "Am I going to have to leave you behind, then?"

"No, no! Just give me half a sec." Torrence shook his head, attempting to shake off his mental fog. "And here I thought I was going to have to carry _you_ out of here over my shoulder!"

"Looks to me more like the other way around now," the woman said. "Did he drug you?"

That would explain his odd lethargy. "He must have, the bloody bastard!"

"Typical." She placed her arm around him, allowing him to lean against her. It was a delightful feeling, being allowed to wrap his arms around the lithe form he'd so admired from afar. As if she'd read his thought, she shared an intimate smile with him, reminding him of the days not so long ago when she strode the catwalks as Shera Alexander, desired by many, including himself, but possessed by their master alone. He dared not hope to enjoy too much of her even now - he didn't have a death wish, and Malcolm Atherton-Haldane was not one to share! - but surely His Grace would not begrudge him indulging in the momentary fantasy that she was his to own, if only for the moment. Shera - or Alisandra? - whatever the Viper wished to call herself at the moment, she seemed indulgent enough of his whim, for her smile merely grew. He realized that the drugs he'd been given must have weakened his shields significantly, for his thoughts to be so readily apparent.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"No need to apologize," she soothed, helping to steady him on his feet. "I need you to bring me up to speed on everything that's happened since my capture, though. Do you think you can do that?" Step by step, she began to help him towards the door.

"It'd take too long," he said, his voice slurring. "Escape now, explain later."

"You could just show me," she invited, brushing a tendril of thought against tissue-thin shields. "I know Malcolm had a special mission in mind for us, but that damned Corwyner captured me before I was able to get all the particulars."

Torrence knew what their lord had in mind - the overall master plan, at any rate, if not all the specific details. She was right, it would only take seconds to share what he knew, if he allowed her to peek into his mind. Why not? She was on his side in this.

The moment her mind probed his, he recognized his error, but by then it was too late. He tried to pull away, stumbled as she let him go abruptly. "Bloody bitch!" he yelled.

The door opened, and the woman who'd played him for a fool sauntered out. He attempted to charge out of the room after her, heedless to anything else but his desire for vengeance, but found his way blocked by the Duke of Corwyn. "You'll die for this!" he found himself screaming as he went for Morgan's throat. "When Malcolm Atherton-Haldane is on the throne of Gwynedd, I'll have your bloody duchy and your head on a silver salver!"

Morgan Haldane answered the taunt with a swift right cross, felling Torrence. "I think not," the Duke replied, his voice dripping with contempt. As the Camberian made an attempt to stand, Morgan lifted him to his feet with his shirt front only to fell him once more with a quick punch to the solar plexus.

"Happy Boxing Day," Morgan said as Torrence lay gasping like a beached fish. " _That_ one was for Jeannie."

Two guards offered the Duke their crisp salutes as he strode past them and the door slammed and locked, cutting everyone off from Torrence's view.

* * *

 _Night  
Coroth Castle  
December 26, 2021_

Heather O'Flynn had already left, gone to spend the night at her mother's house before returning with her daughter to Eirian House the following morning. Morgan gave Jen a rueful smile as they prepared to return to the palace. "This was not exactly how I anticipated the rest of this evening playing out," he told her.

"You certainly know how to show a lady a good time," Jen joked. "Rare antiquities, priceless art, scenic overlooks, grand hair-raising adventures . . . ."

He laughed. "Hopefully your next visit will be a little more sedate."

"I'm invited for a next visit, then?"

"Oh, absolutely! It's not a proper tour until you've seen the lushly embroidered underside of Duke Alaric's four-poster bed canopy." Unholy mischief gleamed in his eyes.

"You mean the one that's on display at the downtown museum, I hope?" Jen asked. "Or am I going to have to smack you?"

Morgan grinned. "Sophia told you about that, did she?"

"No, I'm a historian; did you think I'd visit here without doing some basic research first? So tell me, does that pick up line usually work for you?"

"I don't know, I've not trotted it out before. _Does_ it work for me?"

Jen snorted. "In your dreams, Corwyn." She stepped onto the Portal stone.

"Wait, I nearly forgot! Just one more thing," Morgan said as he stepped onto the Portal beside her. "Raise your arms for me."

"Why?" Jen asked in bewilderment as she complied. A moment later she had her answer as he whisked his undershirt over her head and stuffed it into his duffel bag. "That's better. I'd have let you keep it, but those things cost a flaming fortune." As she gaped up at him, he chuckled. "By the way, you're really cute when you're flustered, Doc."

"Morgan Haldane, do _not_ make me hurt you!"

He gave her an insufferable smile, drawing her close to pull her through _t-_ space with him to their destination.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

 _Morning  
The Chapel Royal  
Eirian House  
December 27, 2021_

"Grant, Lord, that we who are baptized into the death of your Son our Saviour Jesus Christ may continually put to death our evil desires and be buried with him; and that through the grave and gate of death we may pass to our joyful resurrection; through his merits, who died and was buried and rose again for us, your Son Jesus Christ our Lord." Sophia watched as Father Devlin received the coffins of her loved ones into the Chapel Royal, sprinkling them with water as each one was carried into the chapel by the few surviving members of the Armsmen Corps that had served them in life.

"Amen." Sophia mouthed the word along with the others around her, although she was more focused on trying to hold her emotions in check as the two tiny coffins of her nephew and niece came into view now, the armsmen carrying all six caskets representing the Royal victims of the Rhemuth Castle attack to their central position in the chapel.

"'I am the resurrection and the life,' says the Lord. 'Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die,'" the priest continued. The last of the coffins - empty, Sophia knew, aside from a few scoops of Rhemuth Castle dust in each, mixed in with the ashes of the mingled human and Deryni remains those scoops may have contained - was gently placed into position before the congregation.

Father Devlin glanced over at her briefly then, his striking blue eyes filled with empathy. Returning his attention to the coffins before him, he began to pray. "God our Father, by raising Christ your Son you destroyed the power of death and opened for us the way to eternal life. As we remember before you our sister Araxelle, our brother Kelric, our sister Stefanie, our sister Simone, our brother Aidan and sister Araxia, we ask your help for all who shall gather in their memory. Grant us the assurance of your presence and grace, by the Spirit you have given us; through Jesus Christ our Lord."

"Amen."

Surviving representatives of the two Royal Households represented carried the palls forward, draping the late monarch's coffin first with the Royal Standard, then the Prince of Meara's coffin with a pall bearing the arms of the Haldane heir. The Princess Stefanie's pall, bearing a lozenge showing her to be a daughter of the House of Haldane, came next, then Simone's, the Princess of Meara's pall, with the Haldane Lion quartered with her father's MacEwan arms displayed on MacEwan tartan. The tiny coffins of her twin infants were draped last in snow white palls bordered in gold.

"On Mount Zion the Lord will remove the pall of sorrow hanging over all nations. He will destroy death forever. He will wipe away the tears from every face."

Sophia knew Father Devlin's words were her cue that it was time for her to add her contributions to the memorial. She stepped to a nearby table holding the royal regalia and other mementos. Picking up the cushion that held the Crown worn by Araxelle at her Coronation - recently retrieved from the Rhemuth Castle Keep for the occasion along with several other items of regalia - she placed it at the head of her late mother's coffin, followed by cushions bearing Kelric's Mearan coronet and tiaras for her sister and sister-in-law. On Aidan's and Araxia's coffins, she placed framed portraits taken of them in their christening gowns. Blinking back tears, she stepped back to make way for Morgan to step forward to place the funerary wreaths at the foot of each coffin.

He made his way back to her side afterwards, his hand clasping hers, giving her strength even as he drew strength from her firm grip.

"God of all consolation, your Son Jesus Christ was moved to tears at the grave of Lazarus his friend. Look with compassion on your children in their loss; give to troubled hearts the light of hope, and strengthen in us the gift of faith, in Jesus Christ our Lord," Father Devlin prayed.

"Amen," the congregation responded. The priest continued on with the Requiem Mass, Sophia only half heeding him as she made her responses by rote, for her mind and heart were in the past, taking refuge from the morning's torment in happier memories. Later, in solitude, she would add her own fervent prayers to those being offered up this morning, but for now she must be Queen of Gwynedd, the source of hope and strength for her people, and grieving queens could not afford the luxury of public tears.

* * *

Her hand was cold in his. If it were not for the strength of Sophia's grasp, Morgan might have mistaken her grip for that of yet another family corpse.

It was nearly time for the Eucharist, nearly time for his irregularly scheduled crisis of faith. Ever since his parents' untimely death three years earlier, he had struggled, wavering between belief and doubt, faith and fury, denial and acceptance. His chaplain at Coroth had assured him such struggles were normal, were as much a part of his grieving process as the initial shock that had given way to irrational feelings of rage at his parents and desolation over what he'd felt was their abandonment of him, never mind that their deaths were the result of an accident, happening through no fault of their own. The anger had turned its focus in time from his parents to God, a white-hot anger that had over the past three years begun to mellow into a red-hot ember, then gradually to a dark coal, barely warm anymore.

But now it flared again, threatening incandescence. He'd come through the loss of his parents and had learned to move beyond it, growing stronger in the process, yet the transforming power of his grief had seared away his innocent faith and trust even as it had forged him into the man he'd had to become to take his father's place as Corwyn's Duke. He did not wish the same gut-wrenching pain upon his remaining cousin, this pale young woman by his side who despite being Queen of Gwynedd now was still (and ever would remain in Morgan's heart of hearts) his sweet baby cousin Sophia. He didn't want the pain of loss to harden her as it had done to him, yet he felt helpless to help her through her grief when he had barely managed to muddle through his own.

In this case, at least, he realized that his fury was misplaced, that God had not been the one to reach down from Heaven to smite their remaining family. No, that act had been perpetrated by a mere mortal. No matter who that person was, or how powerful he might be, Morgan would find him someday, would see justice done. He owed Sophia that. He owed them all that.

The Eucharist was not a time to be contemplating thoughts of vengeance, a part of him recognized, but try as he might, he could not refocus his mind to thoughts of forgiveness and mercy. Perhaps someday, but not yet. Not now. Could God meet him where he was rather than where perhaps he ought to be? Who the hell knew? His faith hung from a fraying thread so thin he was not even sure how much the question mattered to him anymore, more practiced out of habit than conviction, yet maybe like his anger that, too, might flare back up again someday.

 _'_ _Vengeance is mine,' saith the Lord. 'I will repay.'_ The thought came to Morgan out of nowhere. Perhaps it was nothing more than a whisper from his subconscious; after all, he and God were hardly on speaking terms anymore. He knew better than to think it was a divine directive for him to take vengeance into his own hands, though; unlike some, he knew the context of the verse.

 _Fine, God, feel free to get right on that! Maybe_ then _I'll believe in a loving, caring God again._

* * *

 _Morning  
The Royal Astari Hotel  
December 27, 2021_

Right now, Malcolm Atherton-Haldane knew that the streets of Rhemuth were already beginning to fill with bystanders - both locals and tourists-hoping to catch a glimpse of the historic funerary procession scheduled to make its way up the Market Road from King's Landing, stopping before the half-ruined Rhemuth Castle before turning onto the King's Way towards the Cathedral of St George. He could see the route from his vantage point in one of the deluxe hotel suites on a high floor of the Royal Astari Hotel. Closer to noon, his driver would take him there, to the foot of the Castle where he was to assemble with the other foreign dignitaries sent by their respective nations to pay their final respects to Her late Majesty Araxelle and the rest of her extinct brood. Malcolm could hardly wait to see if Lloyd O'Malley's handiwork had been worth the extortionate amount he'd paid Eric Armitage for arranging it.

No, on second thought, he could hardly argue that it hadn't been worth every mark. The thought of six fewer Haldanes - well, five Haldanes and one MacEwan unfortunate enough to have married in - brought a smile to his face. A ruined castle was only icing on the cake - regrettable yet necessary. He hoped enough of it had survived the bombing to be rebuilt as a fitting monument to his eventual reign. He'd quite like to live in Rhemuth itself, where he could keep his eye fully on the running of his new Kingdom. Eirian House was a little too far on the outskirts for that purpose, although it would certainly do for the beginning years of his reign.

But first, there were the remaining two Haldane pups to contend with.

He selected his favorite of his Camberian military uniforms, the deep blood red tunic and black trousers of the St Uriel's Lancers, and began to outfit himself for the day's events.

* * *

 _Mid-Morning  
Eirian House  
December 27, 2021_

After the Requiem Mass, select members of the Eirian House Guard bore the draped and adorned coffins back outside, their surviving Armsmen walking alongside their erstwhile charges, to the hearses waiting to transport them to the river side of the palace grounds, where they would be loaded onto the Royal Barge for their final journey to Rhemuth. Sophia and Morgan, as surviving family and chief mourners, followed immediately behind the hearses, and behind them followed those members of the Royal Household who had survived the Rhemuth Castle bombing. As the small cortège began their progress towards the jetty, a lone piper began to play, the poignant notes of _The Queen's Lament_ piercing the otherwise keen silence that surrounded the funeral party.

They reached the Royal Barge as the final notes of the lament faded in the cold air and grew still. The coffins were brought on board, the late Queen's first, with the rest brought on in order of precedence, their armsmen and senior staff, including the Lord Chamberlain, accompanying them. The Duke of Corwyn, with a deep bow to his cousin then, requested leave of Sophia to join them. Despite her heaviness of heart at being parted from him at such a painful moment, she gave her assent; it had been decided earlier that morning that he would be needed to help safeguard their loved ones' remains during their procession through the City later that morning en route to the Cathedral. Or rather, _he_ had decided this, upon hearing of the escalated threat of violence at some point during the funerary observances, and he had claimed his right as Queen's Champion to stand in her defense and that of their family. Sophia had not had the energy to argue the point, despite her private belief that Araxelle and the other members of her family were quite beyond anyone's ability to harm further. She understood his need to do something, _anything,_ besides just remaining at Eirian House feeling as helpless as she did. She was not allowed to join the procession beyond the palace grounds, of course. Her personal armsmen and the Eirian House Guard had nearly gone collectively apoplectic at the very thought, given the uncertainty over whether there might be a merasha gas attack that morning or not. DI Strachan had spent half the night with them already as it was, informing them of the extent and implications of the rumors that had been reported and helping put into place eleventh-hour stratagems for deflecting any such plot before it could be put into motion. The City Police had been apprised of the threat as well and had made several last-moment changes to their already tight security plans. But despite all that, Sophia would not be permitted into the City of Rhemuth until the day of the state funeral itself, and even then she would not be allowed to ride in procession, but would be escorted under armed guard through the Cathedral Portal just long enough to attend the funeral itself before her return to the safety to Eirian House. The Archbishop, the Lord Chamberlain had reported with a derisive snort, had been quite vocally opposed to the notion of the Queen's Armsmen transporting her through the sacristy whilst bearing loaded weapons, but a memory shared - more like imposed - upon the officious clergyman by her irate cousin of what it had looked and felt like to be buried alive under tons of Rhemuth Castle rubble had quickly altered the man's viewpoint.

The rest of the Royal Household embarked upon a second barge which would follow the first one to King's Landing, just a short distance outside Rivergate. As the passengers filed on board, a glow on the Royal Barge caught Sophia's eye, and she turned to glance back at it. Morgan and the Earl of Culdi had warded the deck, protecting its precious Royal cargo and its living passengers from potential attacks from the river banks it would pass on its way to Rhemuth. The ward's golden glow gave off an ethereal, almost heavenly light. Once the final passenger had boarded the second barge, two Deryni members of the Eirian House Guard warded that vessel as well. As the glowing barges cast off from their moorings and began their trip downriver, a gun salute began, the sound carrying over the flowing water and lifted on the river breeze to the ears of Heaven.

Not all had left her behind, though. Eilonwy had stayed to be here for her throughout this most difficult of days, as had Jen. Father Devlin also had felt his place as her chaplain was here rather at the Cathedral, and while some of her personal Armsmen had gone to pay their final respects to her late family, Henry and Michael had refused to leave her side. Heather O'Flynn had remained behind as well, both in case she might require a Healer's services and because of her safety concerns for her young daughter. And Morgan, once the day's observances had been completed, had promised to return to Eirian House later in the afternoon once the royal coffins had been safely installed at the Cathedral under vigilant guard. Sophia sensed the silent support of her tiny entourage as they stood with her, watching the barges disappear from sight around a bend in the river.

* * *

 _Late morning  
City of Rhemuth  
December 27, 2021_

The remaining survivors of the Rhemuth Castle Household and Guard joined the funerary cortège as the barges docked at King's Landing a short distance outside of Rivergate. Those of the Rhemuth Castle Guard who had escaped injury or had come through their recent ordeal relatively unscathed now lifted the coffins from the Royal Barge to load them onto gun carriages for the overland portion of the procession through the streets of Rhemuth. The streets were lined with people, but unlike at previous royal funerals, they were separated from the procession not simply by the usual police barricades and vigilant constables, but also by a gossamer-fine shimmer in the air between sidewalks and street, so nearly imperceptible as not to obscure vision, yet hanging like a protective curtain to keep any threats from onlookers at bay. The people of Rhemuth might watch their beloved royalty pass by, might view the mourners following alongside and behind them, but to venture too close to the energy barrier risked encountering an unpleasant tingle at best or a jolt so severe as to lead to immediate unconsciousness if one were so foolhardy as to attempt to force one's way beyond it.

Morgan noted the addition of this new warding approvingly. This had been one of the suggested innovations of DI Strachan, who although possessed of no Deryni powers of his own, had shown no hesitation to take advantage of Deryni as well as ordinary human methods of securing a perimeter. The energy expenditure must have been formidable, though. Morgan wondered how many Rhemuth Deryni had been called upon to assist in shielding the procession route, and of those, how many either lay half-comatose in deepest slumber after the exertions of their work, or were functioning on borrowed energy by means of fatigue-banishing spells that would send them crashing into an equally deep sleep just as soon as the procession was over and the crowds had dispersed. Of course, human volunteers might also have been used to augment the energies needed. God knows from the look of the crowds as far as his eye could see, there would have been no shortage of those to call upon! He made a mental note to himself to share this memory with Sophia later; she'd certainly want to find some suitable reward to Strachan for his innovative thinking.

The Cathedral bell began to toll, the mournful sound echoing through the otherwise surprisingly quiet city. It felt to him as if the entire world was focused on their passing now, the City one single living organism breathlessly awaiting the arrival of the slain Queen who had once been its heart. Awaiting also the resuscitation of its new Queen's arrival. It was to be disappointed this day, at least; like Christ in his tomb, only the dead would reign in the Cathedral as the family lay in state for three more days until the state funeral and their interment in the Haldane crypt.

The wheels of the gun carriages on the ancient cobbled streets, the measured tread of mourners' steps and the clip clop of horses' hooves echoed off the walls of the surrounding buildings in Market Square and the route beyond it, for instead of turning at that point towards the Cathedral, the carriages continued forward, making for the bottom of the hill below the main gatehouse of the ruined Castle. There, the Dukes of Carthmoor, Cassan, and Claiborne joined Morgan, along with the heads of the various noble houses throughout the Kingdom or their chosen representatives if those heads were unable to come in person to pay their respects to their late sovereign and her family. Behind these, foreign dignitaries from the other Ancient Kingdoms and indeed from throughout the modern world fell into place, with representatives of various Gwyneddan military regiments bringing up the rear.

A cannon salute from the Castle wall overlooking the Eirian River signalled to the procession and its watchful audience that it was time for the procession to change its course, making its way now up the King's Way towards the Cathedral of Saint George in the distance. He could see its proud spire gleaming in the sunlight, beckoning to them, the eerie cry of the tolling bell plaintive in his ears as they drew ever nearer. At the Cathedral steps waited the Archbishops of Valoret and Rhemuth, along with other princes of the Church, ready to receive the earthly remains of the departed souls the carriages conveyed.

They had arrived. Morgan nodded brusquely as he received the murmurs of condolence from the two Archbishops, quite relieved when they moved on to extend their sympathies to the Earl of Culdi, who as Her late Majesty's Lord Chamberlain had served her loyally for two decades as the head of the Royal Household, and who had served Nigel Haldane with equal fidelity before that. As select survivors of the Rhemuth Castle House Guard lifted the coffins with gentle care to carry them into the Cathedral and lay them on the large catafalque set up in the nave, Morgan stood close by, the lone member of the family present as silent witness to their care in paying their respects to the fallen in this final duty.

The others processing with him filled their respective seats, and while the cameras were placed discreetly, Morgan knew that those not admitted within the Cathedral walls were still looking in from screens set up throughout the City, at Eirian House, around the Kingdom and indeed the entire world. He knew this, yet for the most part he ignored it, his attention focused now not on his surroundings, not on the brief service that had just begun, on the censing or the asperging, but narrowed down to his steadfast gaze on the polished casket representing the mortality of his childhood companion, the brother of his heart. Morgan would get through this somehow, would ground and center his very being on being here for Kelric now. He should have died with him - but for the mere accident of a headache and mild fever that had sent him early to his bed, Morgan _would_ have died alongside his royal kindred - but this day he made a choice not to simply survive by mere accident but to live with intent. If he had been spared from death, then he must have been spared for a purpose. Surely his life must have meaning, if only he could discover what that meaning might be.

The choirs' voices lifted in song, bringing Morgan out of his reverie. As hymns went, it sounded suitable enough, certainly angelic enough for the ecclesiastical environs surrounding him. Kel's personal tastes had leaned more to classic rock than any sort of classical or church music, but the thought of the Archbishop's probable reaction to the choir belting out the lyrics to a rock ballad forced Morgan's lips to twitch into a reluctant smile.

* * *

 _Just after noon  
St George's Cathedral  
City of Rhemuth  
December 27, 2021_

Malcolm pondered the security measures he had observed during the procession to the Cathedral. The shimmering barriers between the bystanders and the street had come as a surprise-none of the intelligence he had received had reported anything of the sort. That might throw a kink in the works with the Humanity Ascendant diversion, though perhaps not. After all, they were merely to soften the resistance - primarily the Deryni resistance - and that could be done easily enough against any Deryni law enforcement or other busybodies not already within the barricade. The wards might also prevent those outside them from getting into the Cathedral soon enough to prevent his own plans. True, he'd hoped the merasha gas would also incapacitate those inside the Cathedral, but he could always figure out some other solution for that. He had three days to plan, after all.

One thing he needed to determine would be how best to put himself within easy reach of his Haldane rivals when the big day came. He had originally thought to arrive like any other foreign dignitary, but another annoying discovery had been the presence of some sort of shield wall between most of the invited guests and the area where the Queen of Gwynedd would presumably be seated alongside her ducal cousin. It was as discreet as the faintly shimmering wards between the crowds and the street, but powerful nonetheless. However, they didn't seem to be the usual sort of dome-shaped ward (or, actually, spherical - a dome would have been easy enough to undermine in a building built over a crypt!), but more of a vertical barrier between the two Haldanes and those who had joined them to memorialize their fallen. That was a possible vulnerability, if only he could manage to enter the cathedral from the other side of that energy wall.

He sent out a probing tendril of thought to sense what sort of warding magic had been used to erect it. Ward cubes seemed not to be involved. Ritual magic, then? How was it being sustained? Or was it illusory? No, he doubted that; they'd not chance their sovereign's life on a mere mirage. It didn't appear to be crystal magic. The Deryni of Gwynedd weren't all that sophisticated in their use of jerramán crystals at any rate; that had become more of a Camberian speciality in the past century or two. Normally he would be intrigued, but today he was more annoyed than anything else.

The Cathedral almost certainly had a Portal in its sacristy; they nearly all did. And the sacristy would certainly be on the other side of the wall. He did not know the specific psychic signature for that Portal, but someone here surely would. The trick would be finding the right person from whom he could glean the necessary information. The Archbishop wouldn't know - he was a mere human - and any of the Deryni clergy associated with the Cathedral would doubtless be too well protected for him to gain access to their minds easily.

Not everyone with access to such information would be as well shielded, however. And it was possible that at least one or two of his sleepers had managed to gain the information that he needed sometime over the past few years. He would send out a general call. It was high time they were mobilized anyway.

* * *

 _Early afternoon  
The Queen's private apartment  
Eirian House  
December 27, 2021_

Only a small number of the Queen's Household had opted to remain at Eirian House, and of those few, those closest to Sophia were currently gathered in the small seating area of her private apartment, filling her sofa and chairs or lounging on pillows Jen and Eilonwy had managed to scrounge up. Ostensibly, they were gathered to watch the live broadcast of the brief service taking place at the Cathedral. Primarily, they were there to lend Her Majesty their emotional support. Devlin was not quite sure how he'd ended up sequestered in here along with the Queen's Inner Circle, although he supposed it was natural she'd want her chaplain close by on this of all days, and after all, that's why he'd stayed behind rather than joining the others in the Cathedral.

The memorial was nearly over, and as the organist began to play a medley of selections specifically selected to reflect the lives and something of the personalities of those whose lives they commemorated that day, Devlin closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair as the swelling melody of _Haldania_ filled the room. A wave of exhaustion swept through him. Come to think of it, he'd fallen fast asleep the last time he'd sat in this chair, hadn't he? Maybe he ought to check it for a sleep spell. The whimsical thought made him smile slightly.

The music did an abrupt shift to something equally familiar to Devlin, yet much more unexpected, and his eyes popped open in surprise. The organ chords played a new melody, one that brought him back several years to when he was still a seminarian. He had never heard the song played in quite this way; it normally featured an electric guitar, not a pipe organ! The Queen, apparently noticing his reaction, gave him an amused look.

"Rainbow Unicorn Anarchy?" Devlin asked, struggling not to laugh at the inclusion of a metal band's music in the medley.

She smiled. "Kelric's favorite band. He and Morgan somehow managed to con their armsmen into letting them go to one of their concerts when they were eighteen. Stefanie and I had to listen to him play endless renditions of _Night Riders_ over and over again all summer. Played quite badly, I regret to say. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned; I may have intentionally 'misplaced' his guitar later that year. In the lake." The smile blossomed into a reminiscent grin, although the memory turned her misty-eyed as well.

The music segued into something more modern, a tune whose title he couldn't quite recall, although it was one that had been quite popular in the past year or so, he knew that much. He wondered which of the Royal Family that one was meant to represent. Princess Stefanie, maybe? It was a catchy tune, capturing the late princess' sunny personality, and he caught himself starting to hum it under his breath.

The music morphed again, this time the tempo slowing, the notes crooning an ancient border ballad from the Princess of Meara's native Claiborne. A love ballad, Devlin thought, but one in which the lovely young lass had died all too soon. An apt choice, given the circumstances.

And then the lullaby. He glanced at Her Majesty, relieved to see that Eilonwy had anticipated the surge of sorrow that he could feel sweep through the grieving Queen at that moment when the music played for the infant prince and princess. The lady-in-waiting took Sophia's hand in hers, squeezing it lightly in support.

The music ended. Devlin, catching Eilonwy's eye, silently asked her, _Would she prefer for us all to stay, or might it be better for her to have some privacy for a little while?_

Eilonwy, looking only briefly startled at the unexpected mental query, glanced briefly at the Queen, apparently silently communicating the question, before replying. _Yes, she could use a bit of time to herself now. Although she'd like for_ you _to stay, Father. I'll remain close by should you need me; I've lots of cards and letters back there that could use sorting through anyhow._ A subtle tilt of her head indicated the door of Her Majesty's bedchamber.

The lady-in-waiting shared a brief, silent communion with her counterpart, Jen DeLisle, after which the two women began to tactfully shepherd the others out of the Queen's suite until only the two of them and the priest remained. The ladies disappeared into the adjoining room, leaving the door cracked slightly open, though near enough to closed to assure Her Majesty's privacy.

The Queen leaned forward to pick up the remote control, switching the screen off. Devlin reached into his pocket in order to ensure his stole was there and ready for use if she should require his official services, but seeing the motion, she put up a staying hand with a faint smile. "No need, Father. It's not really a priest I'm needing at the moment so much as just someone to be with me who has the good sense to know when to speak and when to just shut up, and you've got better instincts when it comes to that sort of thing than most." She chuckled. "Is that a Deryni talent or a priestly one?"

He laughed, feeling absurdly flattered. "A little of both, I suppose."

She leaned back wearily. "Morgan will come bursting back in here in a bit, and while I love my cousin dearly, he is not exactly what I'd call a quiet soul." She grinned.

"Ma'am, under the right circumstances _I'm_ not exactly what anyone would call a quiet soul either," Dev remarked.

"At least your 'right circumstances' aren't all the blooming time!" Sophia quipped. She studied him curiously. "Though I can imagine Lord Arilan dragging you into a fair bit of mischief now and then when you were growing up."

"That might have gone the other way around at least half the time," Devlin confessed. "James can have a thoughtful, contemplative side when he's not being a hellion."

"And you can be a bit of a hellion when not being all thoughtful and contemplative?" the Queen teased him.

"Guilty as charged, Ma'am." His blue eyes lit with silent laughter.

"When we're in this apartment or otherwise in private, you can stop 'Ma'aming' me. It's expected in public, I know, but in private it makes me feel old enough to be everyone's mum." Sophia stood, making her way to the tiny kitchenette off the sitting area. "I'm trying to resist the urge to have a glass of wine this early in the day for fear I'll only use it to self-medicate, but can I get you anything while I'm in here?" She pulled a cola fizz from the mini-fridge.

"That looks good, M-" He broke off the title he'd started to use out of habit. She laughed, pulling a second bottle out of the fridge.

"Sophia. It's really not that difficult a name, I promise."

Easy enough for her to say; _he_ wasn't used to calling royal personages by their first names! "I'll do my best. Those foreign polysyllabic names confuse me, you know," he joked.

She handed him one of the soft drinks. "Don't give me that, I'm sure you've learned at least some Greek and Latin, and if you can handle 'polysyllabic,' you ought to be able to get through 'Sophia' without stumbling too badly."

"I think I can avoid making you feel twice your age in private if you can remember my name is Devlin."

She sat again, her thoughts returning to the memorial service. "That organ arrangement for the Rainbow Unicorn Anarchy song was Morgan's choice, but Kelric would definitely have approved."

Devlin took a sip of his drink, amused anew at the memory of the odd medley of music. "I went to one of their concerts around ten years ago, I think it was. James had a date, but his plans fell through, so I got invited to use his spare ticket at the last minute. Don't worry, though; I won't haul out my guitar if you've a habit of dumping them in lakes."

Sophia laughed. "I'm sure I could resist the urge now. It wasn't just the bad playing, it was the near-constant repetition of the same song over and over again, coupled with the fact that he was being quite annoyingly eighteen that year. And I may have been just a bit of a brat as well."

"Just a bit, if you gave his guitar a burial at sea, so to speak. What was the age difference between you two, if I might ask?"

"Four years. He was just a few months older than Morgan. And Stefanie was the middle stair step."

She needed to talk about them, Devlin suddenly realized. That's what this was about, not just some odd whim to have him over for cola fizz. She needed to be able to talk about her family with someone who wouldn't react to the mention of their names with the sort of uncomfortable, half-embarrassed reaction that too many people assumed when faced with talk of death or grieving, shying away from the topic as if mortality was somehow contagious.

"So tell me about Princess Stefanie," he prompted. "I know I've heard that pop song before that the organist played for her, but I can't quite place it . . . ."

* * *

 _Evening  
Tre-Arilan  
December 27, 2021_

They'd found him! James Arilan studied the computer screen with mounting excitement. His hunch had been correct - Eric Armitage had shed his real name during his visit to Americia - but a recent transaction from his Eric Harvey account had gone to pay a Mr Edward H. Albritton 'for services rendered,' and later that same evening Mr Albritton had paid for expedition for a Gwyneddan passport, allegedly to replace a stolen one. The Gwyneddan passport had been delivered and signed for by priority mail earlier that morning, and just a few minutes ago a ticket for Edward H. Albritton had been purchased for one-way travel from New Rhemuth, Americia, to the Rhemuth International Airport in Gwynedd. Everything at first glance might have seemed quite legitimate, aside from the unfortunate fact that the real Mr Edward H. Albritton, born in Nyford on March 23, 1960, had died three years since, and as far as James was aware (he'd have to ask Devlin for sure), no passport was required to enter either Heaven or Hell. No, James would stake all he had on the recently resurrected Mr Albritton being one and the same man as Eric Harvey Armitage. The bastard who'd been responsible for the Rhemuth Castle bombing was on his way back home, and by God, James intended to nail him!


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

 _Morning  
Tre-Arilan  
December 28, 2021_

"Good morning, Mr Carbury," said Healer Dr Karim al-Sayid from the Transfer Portal niche at Tre-Arilan. Beside him, her eyes downcast, stood an alarmingly familiar blonde woman whom Carbury had only seen once before but would certainly never forget. "Might we enter?" the Healer asked him.

Carbury's eyes widened. "You want to bring _her_ back here? Are you out of your bloody mind?"

The woman looked up then, meeting his gaze with a rueful smile of understanding. "I can't very well blame you for that reaction; under the circumstances, I wouldn't let me in either. And I'm sure you can imagine my own hesitation in coming back through this Portal, after what happened to me the last time I attempted it! I mean you and yours no harm, sir. Truth-Read me, as I know you must. I've only come in hopes of helping Tom. If there is any way I can help Healer Dr Al-Sayid in reversing the damage I have done to him, I owe him that."

Carbury had been Reading her and could sense the truth of her statement, yet still he turned a disbelieving eye toward Karim. "Are you certain it's safe? What if whoever tampered with her to begin with manages to get through whatever blocks you've set? I can't just give her the run of His Lordship's home!"

Karim nodded his acceptance. "I suspected you might see it that way. Could we bring Tom down here, though? It's just necessary to have him within touching distance; the location of the work isn't important. And I wouldn't allow her anywhere near him if I weren't absolutely convinced he'll be safe."

Carbury considered this proposal before giving a grudging nod. "I'll have a word with His Lordship. Wait here."

There was hardly any choice, Karim mused as he watched Carbury's departing back. Having seen what Tre-Arilan's Portal wards were capable of, he had no wish to revert from being an invited guest to an unwelcome intruder! Nor did Caroline appear at all interested in testing the limits of Carbury's grudging hospitality, given how tightly she had her arms tucked into her body to minimize the chance of even an accidental brush against the wards.

The butler returned shortly afterwards, carrying a folding wheelchair down the stairs with him. At the foot of the stairs, he opened it and returned upstairs. A few moments later, he came back into sight, assisting Lord Arilan as the two men carried Tom Whitfield down the stone staircase and set him gently into the wheelchair. Arilan glanced over at Karim then with an upraised eyebrow.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Karim, because if all Hell breaks loose I shall be very put out," James said as he allowed them through the wards. He stepped back, maintaining a wary vigil as he watched Caroline Sheraton-Whitfield enter the undercroft of his home.

Tom had remained mostly expressionless as his hosts had moved him downstairs, but as his wife approached him now, some vestigial memory of her surfaced and he shrank back in his seat. Caroline's eyes filled with tears. "Shhh . . . ," she soothed, taking his hand in hers. Karim entered the link with them, both to observe Caroline's psychic working and to assure himself and their hosts of Tom's safety throughout the process. What she did within Tom's mind, he would also see, and if there'd been something he missed in his work with her and she were to prove less benign than he expected, he would stand in the gap between her and Tom to prevent him from coming to any further harm.

Tom's shields were stronger than they had been when he'd first come into Karim's care, but Karim used the Healing controls he had set to lower them now just enough for Caroline to do what she had come to accomplish. Deftly she entered her husband's mind, working swiftly to eradicate each of her compulsions and controls as Karim unblocked them for her. Since Karim had not been the one to set them, he'd been unable to remove them completely without risk of setting off the Death-Triggers she had embedded in them, but now those were neutralized as well.

A growing awareness of her actions and a greater return of his memory filled Tom as each area of blockage was cleared, and while he grew less agitated, yet the emotional pain of understanding just what she had done to him upswelled into a flood as the memories surged back into place. Karim put Tom to sleep then. Caroline glanced at the Healer. "You will blur those memories for him, won't you?"

"I will," the Healer assured her.

Doing a final check to ensure she'd left nothing behind of her earlier work, Caroline withdrew from Tom's mind. "His healing should go faster now. Please tell him I'm sorry."

"You could tell him that yourself, you know."

She shook her head. "No, there is something else I must do first." She straightened. "Lord Arilan, we saw on the news earlier that Eric Armitage was arrested this morning. Would you please inform Her Majesty that Armitage was not the true mastermind behind the Rhemuth Castle bombing? He was paid to orchestrate that attack, but she has a greater enemy that she needs to be quite wary of."

"The Atherton-Haldanes?" James asked.

"Duke Malcolm, specifically," she replied, "although Aubrey is hardly her friend either. You are aware of his plans for Friday, then?"

"No, not precisely," James reluctantly admitted. "I knew of his connection with you, and had come to suspect there might be some sort of connection between him and Humanity Ascendant as well, or at least that there was some sort of Camberian connection with the O'Malley kidnapping, but proving it has been more of a challenge. What is he planning?"

"I can't say _exactly_ what he plans to do, because I don't know that either. But I do know he plans to kill your Queen, and if he can manage to do so at the State Funeral, that would be his chief aim. He'd love the feeling of triumph such a public showdown would bring him. Though even if you manage to discover his plans in time to stop him, she will never be safe as long as he is alive. He wants a Kingdom for himself-Gwynedd, that is, not Camberia-and the only way he can gain it is to eliminate his rivals. Both of them."

"Not all three?" James asked, skeptical.

Caroline shook her head. "Aubrey doesn't want the hassle of reigning over two Kingdoms. Camberia presents enough challenges for him. Not everyone there is happy to be under Atherton-Haldane rule, especially the human underclass. And that, by the way, is who Humanity Ascendant think they are dealing with in Camberia. Armitage has no idea it's actually a High Deryni lord pulling his strings. I'm sure that will be a nasty surprise."

"I _had_ wondered why the HA would ally themselves with a Camberian Deryni."

"Don't get me wrong, your Humanity Ascendant group is a malignancy of its own," Caroline warned. " _Their_ chief aim is to rid your Kingdom of all Deryni influence, at least in any places of power. Once they achieve their aims here, their hope is that the Human Kingdom of Gwynedd - or perhaps the Human Republic of Gwynedd, since some of their number are agitating for that as well to prevent the possibility of another Deryni House attaining the throne - can eventually help the oppressed humans of Camberia to liberate my kingdom also. Duke Malcolm has been playing their discontent quite skillfully for his own aims, getting them to do much of his dirty work for him in hopes no one will think to make the connection."

* * *

 _Late morning  
St George's Cathedral  
City of Rhemuth  
December 28, 2021_

The four Dukes of Gwynedd standing at the four corners of the large catafalque in the nave of the Cathedral presented a very tempting target for Malcolm Atherton-Haldane, but not quite tempting enough. For one thing, their little Queen was not with them, and while he would enjoy wiping out all of Gwynedd's dukes in one blow, Sophia Haldane was his primary target at this point, and it would hardly help his cause if he were to spook her and cause her security team to put her even further out of his reach. The vigil area was also warded, although the wards could possibly be breached if Malcolm were willing to put forth a determined enough assault. The Royal Armsmen, both those concealed and those standing in clear view, would present more of a problem; they'd hardly stand around and simply watch if he were to try such a thing, so if he wished to attack during the vigil, he'd need to return with a much greater force. But also, despite the throngs of Gwyneddan mourners and tourists swarming through the Cathedral to pay their last respects to the Haldane ash-bins on display, not to mention the long queue forming outside, there simply was not enough public coverage of this event. It was true that the vigil was being broadcast live, but that was not the main event that most of the public would tune in for. No, making his move during the State Funeral would get him the full attention of the Gwyneddan public, much less the world at large, so he was content to watch Corwyn's Duke from a distance, well-shielded to prevent any from discerning his private thoughts.

His unwillingness to make his move just yet would not prevent him from sizing up the man, of course. He studied Morgan Haldane with great interest. This, then, was the young stripling who was the current heir apparent to Gwynedd's throne? Yes, he appeared fit enough, and even from his vantage point at some distance across the large nave Malcolm could sense the aura of leashed power radiating from the man, a charismatic presence that drew the eye. But he was still quite young, with less than half of Malcolm's age and experience. He had potential, Malcolm grudgingly admitted, at least as much so as one of his own sons. It was almost a pity he'd not live long enough to develop it further.

But he was not just here to study Morgan Haldane. Malcolm turned his attention back to his surroundings, gathering information with both physical and psychic senses on the Cathedral's layout, vulnerabilities, and the locations of its current defenses.

* * *

 _Afternoon  
The Queen's private apartment  
Eirian House  
December 28, 2021_

"Blasted little nuisance!" Despite the severity of her words, Sophia was more amused than annoyed by the feline she found climbing halfway up one of her sitting room curtains. She gently detached needle-sharp claws from the velvet and lowered the kitten to the ground.

"That's it, you could just name her Nuisance," Jen suggested.

"Not Byzantine enough," Sophia stated. "Surely we can figure out something a bit more Medieval Greek than that!"

"Let's see here . . . ." Eilonwy did a name search. "You might call her Theodora, after the famous Empress."

"What does that mean, Lover of God?" Sophia asked as she took her seat again. The kitten promptly jumped into her lap and began to climb up onto her shoulder. "Lover of Heights is more like it!"

"Having scooped out her litter box this morning, I'd propose a pronunciation change," Jen commented. "What about 'The-Odorous?'"

Sophia groaned. "Next suggestion?"

"You might consider Artemis," Eilonwy suggested. "Hopefully she'll turn out to be a huntress."

"That's a thought," Sophia answered. "Or what if we consider name meanings first, then figure out what the Greek might be for those words and see if we can come up with an interesting name that way? What's Greek for 'cat'?"

"Hm." Eilonwy did a search. "Looks like that comes out to something like 'Gata' or 'Gati.'"

Sophia shook her head. "I don't think so. What about 'gift'?"

Eilonwy searched again. "All right, not sure what the differences in nuance are, but that could be either 'Doro' or perhaps 'Charis' or 'Charisma.'"

Sophia laughed as the kitten began to purr and nibble at her ear. "Well, she's certainly got charisma! I rather like Charis, actually."

Jen laughed. "You're a Haldane, Sophia! Are you sure you want to name your cat after a Festillic Pretender?"

Sophia grinned. "Well, let's see . . . she's been here three days and already thinks she runs the place, so that part seems to fit! But I thought the Kelson-era Festil was named Charissa?"

"Yes, but that's from the same root word," Jen said. "Your kitten would have at least one other thing in common with the historical Charissa, though."

"Oh? What's that?"

Jen grinned. "Getting owned by a Haldane."

Sophia winced. "What is this, bad Americian joke night?"

There was a knock on the door. Sophia detached the kitten from her shoulder. "Enter!"

Henry poked his head into the room. "Lord Arilan requests an audience, Ma'am. He says it's urgent."

The Queen glanced at Eilonwy, handing the kitten off to her to return her to her enclosure in the bedroom for the time being. "All right, send him in."

* * *

 _Late afternoon  
Her Majesty's Private Office  
Eirian House  
December 28, 2021_

"Has the Duke of Corwyn returned from the Cathedral yet, Diana?" Sophia asked her new private secretary as she prepared to meet with the Camberian Council in the Royal Council chamber. Not that Sophia had made it known to her staff that those who would be arriving for the meeting were in fact members of the legendary Camberian Council, but the Portal guards on duty had been discreetly informed that Her Majesty would be calling a special security council that afternoon and that they were to direct anyone on the invitation list directly to her Council Chamber. Lord Arilan and Father Devlin had been tasked with sharing the Portal coordinates with those Council members who did not already know them - Sophia had no qualms over sharing such privileged information since she knew her Portal security measures would easily screen out unwelcome arrivals regardless of their knowledge of the Portal address should any of these Councilors become personae non grata in future - and she had been kept apprised of the recent arrivals, but Morgan thus far had not put in his appearance. She would have preferred to meet with him prior to the Council meeting, for she wanted him to be there, both due to his role as her Queen's Champion and because she wanted her heir apparent to be well aware of those with whom he would be meeting. After all, given the sometimes tempestuous nature of the relationship between the House of Haldane and the Camberian Council, she wanted him to be well aware of that Council's current membership.

"I don't believe so, Ma'am. I have let the Portal Guards know they are to send him here the moment he arrives. If you need to head to Council, shall I just have them direct him straight there instead?"

Sophia gave the clock a quick glance. "No, he still has three minutes to -" A knock on the door heralded someone's arrival, and as she and Diana Layton both turned towards the sound, the door opened. "The Duke of Corwyn, Ma'am," one of Sophia's new armsmen announced, stepping aside to allow him entry.

"Sergeant Sims in the Portal Room said you requested me?" Morgan asked Sophia before taking note of the woman standing behind her. He gave Diana a brilliant smile of welcome as he recognized who she was.

"Yes," the Queen answered. "We're meeting with the Camberian Council in three minutes. I want you there. I'm sorry there's no time for you to change, but given the topic of discussion, your military uniform ought to serve admirably as a reminder to all present that you are the Queen's Champion. I'll fill you in on what Lord Arilan has learned this morning on our way to Council."

"Yes, Ma'am," he said, the bright smile fading into complete seriousness as the gravity of Sophia's demeanor communicated itself to him. Glancing at the late Princess of Meara's former secretary, he added, "It's good to see you again, Diana; let's catch up later, shall we?"

* * *

 _Late Afternoon  
The Royal Council Chamber  
Eirian House  
December 28, 2021_

The Council had fully gathered and were engaged in quiet discussion amongst themselves by the time Sophia and Morgan entered the chamber together. Two seats had been left empty - the one at the head of the table with the Haldane ensign on it, and another to the right of that one. All stood as the Queen and her heir entered the room, remaining standing until Sophia had taken her seat and signaled her permission for the others to do the same.

"Good afternoon, My Lords, Ladies, and Gentlemen. I trust that Lord Arilan has already informed you all of what he learned this morning?" Sophia asked as she looked around at the faces gathered at her Council table.

"Yes, Ma'am," Father Devlin answered for them all, his expression unusually grave.

"Good. I have also brought the Duke of Corwyn up to speed on the latest developments. Might I trust that whatever points of difference that the Camberian Council may have had with the House of Haldane in the past, none of us here would be in favor of either of the Atherton-Haldanes of Camberia attaining the Throne of Gwynedd?"

"Dear God, no!" Elspeth exclaimed. "Either of those two despots make _you_ look like a staunch republican by comparison!"

Despite the gravity of the situation, the Queen worked to suppress a laugh. "Coming from you, Miss McIntyre, I will consider that a compliment." Or at least less of an insult, Sophia wasn't entirely sure which. Turning her attention back to the others at the table, she added, "Malcolm of Camberia was at least indirectly behind the attack on your Council chamber just eleven days ago. Thanks to the quick thinking of Lady Alicia and those she called upon for aid, you all survived what could have been a slow and painful death. I'm sure I need not go into further details about the toxicity of acrinious gas. I am glad to have been in a position to lend assistance in some small way during what I realize must have been quite a harrowing time for every one of you."

As her gaze landed on Lady Violet, she sensed a faint hint of amused approval from the woman who had given birth to her. At least one member of the Council had noticed her veiled hint that Haldane assistance had been rendered to the Camberian Council and assistance would now be requested of them as well.

"You are _so_ very like your father, Your Majesty," the elder Councilor said with a slight smile. "If you have not already been so informed, then both as a Haldane and a Deryni you have always had the right to call upon the Council's aid in formal arbitration of a dispute, regardless of whether we happen to owe you a favor or not."

Peter Astari frowned. "Lady Violet is right, Ma'am, that _is_ your right, and I believe I speak for us all in saying we would be glad to render our assistance in whatever way that we can. However, you need to realize that unlike most Gwyneddan Deryni who have been raised to revere our people's traditions, whether they are aware of the Council's existence or not, Malcolm of Camberia is a rogue Deryni who plays by his own rules. I can't see him showing up to challenge you in a formal Duel Arcane, properly arbitrated or not. He's more likely to use subterfuge and ambush as a means of getting his way."

"I can't see that either," Morgan said before Sophia could reply, "which is why when Duke Malcolm shows up for that attack - and I have no doubt he _will_ show up in person, given his aspirations - _I_ plan on issuing a formal challenge to him as the Queen's Champion. And that, as I understand it, is where the rest of you would come in." He looked to Sophia, who nodded and continued the explanation of the plan that she and Morgan had briefly discussed en route to the Royal Council chamber.

"We think it most likely that Malcolm will make his move at some point during my family's funeral. Eirian House is too well protected, but as a visiting dignitary representing Camberia, Malcolm is already on the list of people approved to enter the Cathedral on Friday. Of course, since he was in attendance there yesterday as well, he already knows about our current security arrangements, including the barrier ward, so there is a good chance he will seek to enter the Cathedral by means of the sacristy Portal. I hope so; using the Portal would put him on _our_ side of the barrier, which would help to protect the rest of the gathered mourners from potential harm. Either way, rather than blocking his access, I would rather allow him to make his way in. That way at least the fight will be on _our_ ground and terms rather than on his. There will already be several Deryni armsmen on hand throughout the service, and they will render assistance as needed if Malcolm should begin an attack before Morgan has a chance to issue formal challenge, but having seven more highly-trained Deryni present might help serve as a deterrent against Malcolm taking unduly rash actions." Sophia smiled at the Councilors. "I doubt he really wants to make a last brave stand as a lone attacker against a dozen or more irate Deryni."

"Malcolm Atherton-Haldane has many years of combat training and experience under his belt," Father Devlin reminded Sophia and Morgan, looking troubled. "I realize the Duel Arcane, assuming we can get him to agree to the terms of one, is probably the best solution for safeguarding everyone else in the Cathedral if Malcolm is determined to stage a royal showdown, but it's hardly going to be safe for Your Grace."

"I don't believe that an assurance of my personal safety came very high up on the list of perquisites when I assumed the mantle of Queen's Champion, Father," Morgan replied. "Believe me, Her Majesty has already tried to talk me out of this part of the plan, but she knows that this is the only time we are likely to know enough about his plans beforehand to have the upper hand in a fight."

"It would be better if you could somehow maneuver Malcolm into issuing the challenge," Lady Maureen said. "That way at least _you_ could set the terms, as the one challenged. If you set the terms, Your Grace, you could choose to fight only to first blood, or until one opponent is unconscious-something that stops short of a fight to the death, at least-and with the stipulation that if Malcolm loses the challenge, he will submit to the Queen's Judgment."

Lady Alicia shook her head. "Even though Malcolm Atherton-Haldane isn't one to play by the rules, he is no doubt aware of what the rules are. I can't see him issuing first challenge and allowing Morgan to set the terms. It's just not his style."

Lord Arilan sighed. "I have an idea. It's sneaky and underhanded, and I absolutely loathe it, but given that Malcolm isn't one for dealing with us on civilized terms, what if we were to deal with him on his barbaric ones? Caroline Sheraton-Whitfield's loyalties appear to have changed, and from what I understand, she'd like nothing more than to get her own back at Malcolm Atherton-Haldane for all he's done to her over the years. So what if the Duke of Corwyn were to issue his challenge, but while Malcolm is still crowing over getting to set the terms - duel to the death, winner takes Gwynedd, and all the rot you _know_ he's going to pile on - we just make sure he remains focused on His Grace long enough for Mrs Sheraton-Whitfield to attack him from behind? If he notices her there at all, he's bound to assume she's still an ally and won't be expecting an attack from that quarter. _We'll_ all be there to shield everyone else in attendance from any stray energy surges. If she succeeds in killing him, we won't have to worry about Malcolm any longer, and if she fails, His Grace can still continue with the challenge as Queen's Champion, yet against an opponent who has already depleted some of his energy fending off an earlier attack, thereby strengthening His Grace's odds of winning the Duel." Seeing the appalled stares of everyone else gathered at the table, James blushed. "I _did_ warn you it was awful, but that's how _he_ would think if he were in our place."

"You're completely right, Lord Arilan," Sophia said, "yet while it's helpful to understand how my enemy thinks, I would much rather we not seek to emulate him. Although if Caroline Sheraton-Whitfield should choose on her own accord to move against Duke Malcolm, I won't stop her, so long as her plans don't increase the danger to my people."

"All right, Ma'am, how about this?" Father Devlin ran his fingers over the prayer beads in his pocket as he spoke. "Hopefully the Queen's Champion will win the Duel against Malcolm, if it comes to that. But I am willing to stand as his second if it _should_ come to that. Should Malcolm win against His Grace of Corwyn, I could then immediately issue another challenge against him. He would hopefully be tired enough from his first duel to give me an advantage in the fight, but if he should win both duels, at least that should leave him sufficiently exhausted for a third challenger."

"Which would be me," James said, grinning at Devlin. "Have I mentioned that I like the way you think?"

"And in the unlikely event he kills all three of you, he shall then have to face _me!"_ Lady Violet declared. "He may laugh himself to death thinking he's facing a crazy old bat, but he won't lay a finger on Her Majesty without a fight from me."

Elspeth rolled her eyes. "You _are_ a crazy old bat, Vi. But count me in too. _Not_ because I approve of your silly old monarchy, but because the bastard tried to have us killed, and who's to say he wouldn't try again?"

Maureen and Alicia both grinned, glancing at Peter, who stated to Her Majesty what they were all agreed upon. "Ma'am, you might as well just post a sign telling us where to form the queue. No matter what differences we may have had with the House of Haldane in the past - or even with each other - we're quite united in this matter. No self-respecting member of an order that reveres _Sanctus Camberus Defensor Humanum_ is going to ever lay out a _Welcome_ mat for Malcolm Atherton-Haldane! Yes, we will defend your right to rule to the best of our abilities." Sobering, he added, "Though I ought to warn you, there will come a time - if not now, then someday in future - when you will need to face down a challenge to your Kingdom, and you will need to do it for yourself. I realize that you have been Empowered as a Haldane Queen, yet that power will never be fully yours to wield until it has been set by the catalyst of a challenge against it."

"I know," said Sophia softly, blinking away the tears which had sprung to her eyes at the show of loyalty before her. "And I would not ask such service from you, though I am grateful for the offer. I am Gwynedd's Queen, and I know my duty to my people. I will ask from you that you give my Champion your full support, guidance, and prayers in these next few days. Hopefully that will be enough to see him through whatever lies before us, but if not, then if my Champion falls I will accept no other to take my place in the circle against the Atherton Pretender."

* * *

 _Night  
St George's Cathedral  
City of Rhemuth  
December 29, 2021_

He'd finally found the right vulnerability to exploit. Three of the sleepers he had created over the years had managed to infiltrate the Rhemuth Police Department. Of those three, one - a human male - had been tasked with street security and crowd control during the funerary procession into Rhemuth, and he had already been assigned similar duties during the State Funeral. It seemed unlikely he would turn out to be of much use, yet Malcolm used the sleeper's controls to assign him the task of finding and exploiting any weaknesses in the perimeter security that he might manage to find.

The second police sleeper he'd discovered on hand was more advantageously placed, one of the security sweepers assigned to protect the Cathedral itself. She'd had access to certain key codes that might prove useful to Malcolm in gaining entry to the Cathedral and some of its less frequently accessed areas. If he could conceal himself somewhere on the Cathedral grounds well enough in advance of the heightened security that would be put into place on the actual day of the funeral, gaining access to the youngling Queen was already half accomplished.

The third of the police sleepers had been Deryni, and his mind had contained the greatest prize of all. Malcolm had been delighted to discover the Cathedral's Portal Signature hidden away in the mind of this security officer, as well as confirmation of its exact location, which would provide him with a ready means of entry and exit from the Cathedral. The Portal was under guard, of course, but this sleeper possessed high enough rank to arrange for the guard schedules to work to Malcolm's advantage. He gave the man instructions to assign the Portal watch for the morning of the funeral to himself and the other sleeper assigned to Cathedral security. They would be there to witness his arrival, but due to his compulsions they would make no move to stop him. If others were present, his two sleepers could be used to subdue the other security forces.

The beauty of this plan was, none of these three had any idea they were sleepers. They would Truth-Read as loyal subjects of their Queen, and even pass all but the deepest of psychic scans until the time came for him to put them into action. There was a chance, of course, that someone else on the security team might think to test them with such a probe before the funeral day, but that was all right. He'd already acquired the information he needed, after all. Having to fight his way through to the Cathedral would be a bloody nuisance, but hardly an insurmountable obstacle. A few jerramán crystals would soften things up nicely.

Malcolm Atherton-Haldane smiled. There were days when he truly loved his work. This was one of them.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

 _Around noon  
In and around the Cathedral of Saint George  
City of Rhemuth  
December 31, 2021_

On the morning of the last day of the year, the Household, visiting dignitaries, and various representatives of the Gwyneddan noble households processed from Rhemuth Castle to the Cathedral for the final funerary service. They filed into the seating areas reserved for them as the people of Gwynedd watched - many among the throngs of mourners who lined the streets outside the Cathedral grounds, thousands more on the large screens that had been set up in nearly every park and public space in Rhemuth, and millions more watching the broadcast from the privacy of their own homes.

One foreign dignitary, the representative from the Royal House of Camberia, was missing from the procession, though very few viewers noted his absence at the time. Of those few, some gave the matter little thought at all, although some - especially those who had professional or personal reasons for noticing such details - found his failure to appear as scheduled rather worrisome. However, there were other distractions at hand that morning.

Inside the cathedral, the start of the funeral service was slightly delayed because the Archbishop, still uneasy over the large numbers of firearms that the Royal Armsmen insisted on bringing with them into a house of worship, had decided at virtually the last minute to specify a large number of restrictions as to what sorts of weapons were to be allowed and how they were to be carried. The Armsmen had lodged an immediate protest with the Queen's Champion, who had swiftly informed His Grace the Archbishop that until the Cathedral had been made fully secure both inside and out, the Queen would not be in attendance at the funeral. And if the Queen was not in attendance, there would _be_ no funeral that day. The matter had been quickly mediated by Rhemuth's Auxiliary Bishop, Sarah McLain, who was finally able to make Archbishop Drummond understand that anyone meaning to do harm to Her Majesty was hardly likely to check his weapons politely at the door in accordance with last-minute policy changes, so although she quite sympathised with his qualms about the matter, it seemed more prudent to allow those tasked with the already difficult job of keeping their Queen safe to do their work without further delay or hindrance.

The brief delay meant that outside of the cathedral, other plans being set into motion continued on as originally scheduled, since none outside those walls knew of the behind-the-scenes drama that had caused a slight postponement in the Queen's arrival. Thus it was that when noon came, certain persons in the crowds outside launched their attack - one that was far less organized when it happened than it might have been if their leader had not been arrested just three days earlier, but what they lacked in leadership, they made up for in enthusiastic improvisation.

Clouds of red vapor began to fill the air at various locations throughout Rhemuth, the unexpected display quickly drawing the attention of news crews and spectators away from the large screens showing the scene inside the Cathedral, at least for the moment, as the puzzled onlookers tried to figure out what the red clouds were. Many believed they were simply part of the memorial display, Haldane Crimson bursts of mist set to go off along the procession route and wherever else mourners were gathered in order to signify . . . well, no one was exactly sure _what_ they were meant to signify, but what else could they be? Others, realizing that the strange red clouds had nothing to do with the planned observances of the day, swiftly retreated from the expanding mist, the fear engendered by the recent Castle bombing stirring them to flight. In the crowd, several members of law enforcement took special note of exactly where the red clouds were emanating from as they waded into the midst of the gatherings to apprehend those who had set them off. Many of these responding police officers were well-prepared for the attack, wearing gas masks and other protective gear.

Two in particular made their way towards a large cloud of brilliant red not too far from the Cathedral entrance. "I don't understand," said one of these men to the other. "M-Gas isn't normally bright red, is it?" DI Adams had never actually been up against a merasha gas attack except in simulation - the stuff was frightfully rare, thank the saints! - but to the best of his memory it was nearly colorless.

The other man smiled, or so Adams surmised by the crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes beneath the mask's goggles. "It's not M-Gas. But it _does_ make a lovely 'come and get me, I'm a would-be terrorist' marker, doesn't it?"

They tackled the man who had set off the gas bomb, handcuffing him and marching him to a waiting vehicle. Once he'd been secured, Patrick removed his mask. "They stole the wrong gas?" He grinned. "Fortunate coincidence, or did you arrange that?"

DI Strachan shrugged modestly. "When I heard the first rumors about the HA's plans a week or so ago, the Chief said it was all a lot of fuss over nothing, but I didn't want it on _my_ head if the rumors turned out to be true after all. So I might have rung up a cousin at the military base where the M-Gas was stored to let him know what I'd heard, and to see if they'd had any tanks of the stuff come up missing. They hadn't yet, though there'd been some suspicious activity in that area they'd already taken notice of, so they might have pulled a bit of a switch, especially after I hinted that might be helpful." He grinned. "That stuff's harmless, mainly water vapor with a bit of concentrated color added in. Non-toxic color, though I don't know how well it washes out of clothes, or for that matter, skin, so we may have a few severe cases of 'Red Rhemuthitis' in the local population over the next fortnight." He winked. "Nothing lethal, just a trifle embarrassing."

DI Adams shook his head. "Brilliant, man. Freaking brilliant!"

* * *

 _Just after noon  
The Cathedral of St George  
City of Rhemuth  
December 31, 2021_

Once the Archbishop's qualms had been laid to rest - _And just in time, too, or there would have been a second funeral on the day's schedule,_ thought Morgan - and everyone had taken their places, the music changed to a royal fanfare heralding the Queen's arrival. Armsmen Henry Carlisle and Michael Prior, in full dress military uniform for the occasion, solemnly escorted her from sacristy to nave, seating her next to her cousin before taking their places standing behind and slightly to the side of both.

Despite the fact that Morgan was well aware of where the various guards, both seen and unseen, who were charged with keeping Her Majesty and himself safe throughout the service had been stationed, as well as where the various members of the Camberian Council had been located, he still felt vaguely nervous about having his back to most of the people in the room. Thus it was that with his senses projected outwards to assess his surrounding for himself and assure himself that there was no nearby threat, he first sensed a familiar presence he had last - and only quite recently - sensed in Coroth. Caroline Whitfield was here! At least he devoutly hoped it was Caroline - the newly-integrated personality - and that Alisandra had not somehow managed to escape the layers of blocking placed upon her by her Healers, not to mention the iron-tight control Caroline had held over the remaining vestiges of that persona that had once controlled her when Morgan had last seen her in his physician's care. She was quite well shielded. That in itself did not necessarily mean she was a threat, but it did mean he could not read her intentions. Technically she had not been invited to the state funeral, so he could order her escorted from the building. He recalled, however, that the Queen had instructed at Council that if Caroline chose to act against the Pretender, she was not to be stopped unless her actions were likely to imperil others around her. Perhaps she had turned up with the intent to defend Her Majesty after all, or at least to seek out retribution against Malcolm of Camberia. If so, she was doubtless disappointed that Malcolm had yet to put in an appearance.

* * *

 _Shortly afterward  
The Cathedral Sacristy  
December 31, 2021_

Six people had come through the Cathedral's Transfer Portal along with Her Majesty, but only two of those had continued on to escort her to her seat in the nave. The other four remained, to the consternation of the two guards assigned to keep watch over the Portal.

"You four need to move along," one of them said brusquely, laying a warning hand on his weapon. "The service is about to start, you wouldn't want to be late." He attempted to put a note of command in his voice, but to his surprise he found the four interlopers tightly shielded.

The man he'd addressed replied soothingly. "We mean no harm, but in light of recent threats against the Queen's life, Her Majesty has requested that we remain here to assist you in guarding the Portal.'

The other guard glanced at him uncertainly. "He's dressed as a Royal Chaplain," she whispered to her companion. "Surely it would be all right?"

The first guard, having Truth-Read Father Devlin's statement, frowned in confusion. He believed the man, yet for some reason he felt the need to resist the order. But disobey Her Majesty's order? He could not, yet for some reason he knew he must.

The four newcomers, in the meantime, took up stations at the corners of the room.

* * *

 _Close to the same time  
The Cathedral Nave_

The service had just started shortly after the Queen's arrival when a message came over Her Majesty's Armsmen's communications links, and the two men glanced at each other with a frown. Michael Prior discreetly readied a weapon for use while Henry Carlisle Mind-Spoke to the Queen. _Your Majesty, there may be an intruder on the premises. I've just received word that one of our guards has not reported in from his post at the designated time. That's being checked out now, but we haven't many Deryni guards on hand to respond to a possible Deryni threat, so would you like me to divert some of the Council members from the Sacristy Portal for back-up?_

Sophia thought swiftly. She'd been nearly certain that the Pretender would choose to arrive through the Portal, but what if she'd been wrong? On the other hand, what if this was just some pre-planned diversion to draw security from the Portal so Malcolm could have unimpeded access? Or perhaps the failure to report in was truly just an accident, due to a stopped watch or some such mishap? Time was passing, time that she could not afford to waste if this lapse signaled a genuine threat. _Divert one of the Council to the appropriate post._ But which one? _Mr Astari, I think. He leads them, so surely he'd be up to the task. Where is this potential breach?_

 _The crypt entrance, Ma'am._

The crypt entrance. If Malcolm Atherton-Haldane was here and had managed to subdue or do away with the guard stationed there, that meant he could be somewhere directly beneath her right now. Sophia suppressed a frisson of fear and silently relayed Henry's message to Morgan.

* * *

 _Moments later  
The Cathedral Sacristy_

"Something seems to have happened at the crypt entrance," Peter Astari reported to his fellow Councilors. "A guard there hasn't checked in. Sergeant Carlisle has just asked me to investigate."

"The crypt? But why would an intruder wish to get in there?" Lady Maureen asked, puzzled. "Is he thinking of attacking Her Majesty after the service, when the coffins are brought down for burial?"

Devlin laid a hand on Peter's arm as Peter passed him on his way to the door. "There's an access panel from the crypt directly to the nave. Several, in fact. If he's down there, he could potentially come up from any of them. Shall I go with you?"

"No, Her Majesty requested that the rest of you remain here just in case this is nothing more than a late check-in or a diversion." Peter attempted to exit the sacristy, but was suddenly stopped by the two guards.

A skirmish ensued, Lady Maureen and Lady Alicia taking on the human guard, with Lady Alicia calling upon her military training to take the lead in that endeavor. She grappled with the guard, attempting to wrest her firearm away and providing the distraction that Maureen needed to sidestep them both and render the guard unconscious. In the meantime, Father Devlin and Peter Astari took on the Deryni guard, who originally attempted a more arcane style of defence, but found his concentration broken by being set on so abruptly by two-on-one odds. He attempted to bring up his pistol but found it kicked out of his hand. It flew across the floor but thankfully did not fire. Astari took advantage of the momentary distraction to cold-cock the guard.

Astari gave Devlin a startled look. "Glad that thing didn't go off! I wouldn't have thought one could kick that high whilst wearing a cassock."

"It's not recommended, but desperate times call for desperate measures. He was pointing it straight at you, so I was trying to deflect his aim, but I hadn't counted on him actually dropping the thing. Run on, then; I think if HM has ordered us to remain here, we'll use the time to figure out why these two guards seemed so eager to prevent you from seeing what's going on down in the crypt. But call if you need back-up; I've got a sinking feeling there's little need for us to remain here if it turns out the person we're meant to guard against has already found a way in."

Maureen, while the two men were overcoming the Deryni guard, had swiftly done a psychic probe of the unconscious human female's mind, checking to see if the guard had acted on her own accord or if she'd acted under a compulsion. "She's been tampered with," she told Father Devlin. "Alicia, I haven't had much experience with dealing this sort of thing, have you?"

"Just a little. Karim would be the one to ask, really. But let's see what I can manage." While Alicia checked the human guard's mind, Father Devlin did the same for the unconscious Deryni, making similar findings. He did his best to block the trigger areas, but a more thorough removal of the compulsions would have to wait. Instead, he touched another area of the man's mind to ensure he would remain unconscious for the next few hours or until a Healer could be sent for him. After a quick consultation with him, Alicia did the same for the human guard.

"Did anyone bring Ward Cubes?" Devlin asked. Maureen and Alicia both brought forth their personal sets. Hauling the two unconscious guards to one clear corner of the room, he had Maureen set her wards around both, to keep whoever had set their compulsion (probably the Pretender, Devlin guessed) from being able to retrieve and revive them if he should come back this way. Alicia, on the other hand, set her wards around the Portal itself. The ward would alert her if anyone should attempt to use it in their absence.

"Does anyone else beside Peter have a communications link to let the Queen's Armsmen know what has happened?" Devlin asked.

"No, but I might be able to reach Peter," Maureen admitted, blushing slightly. "We're not all that far from the crypt entrance, so I think my mind link with him should be able to cover the distance." She focused on that link, hoping to mentally share what had happened after Peter's departure.

* * *

 _At the same moment  
The crypt entrance_

Peter was otherwise engaged at the moment, finding a dead guard where a live one ought to be. Another guard had made the discovery at nearly the same moment, and Peter had had to do quite a bit of fast talking to assure the man that he was not the murderer, but fortunately a quick communication from Henry Carlisle at just the right moment had assured the guard that Peter really had been sent by the Queen as a Deryni backup to assist in his investigation, as he'd claimed.

The short delay in entering the crypt might have ended up saving both their lives, as just as they started to head down the short passageway leading down to the cathedral's undercroft, a loud burst that felt like a small explosion occurred just ahead and around a corner, within the crypt proper. Once they recovered their equilibrium, both men raced into the crypt to find it empty, although wafts of smoke drifting through what remained of an access panel above left no doubt about where the intruder had escaped to. Peter cursed fluently under his breath. The Pretender - for Peter had no doubt anymore that it must be he - had exited the crypt right into the heart of the Cathedral, on the same side of the barrier ward as Her Majesty and the Queen's Champion.

* * *

 _That same moment  
The Cathedral Nave_

Despite having realized the likelihood of her rival for her throne being somewhere below the nave mere minutes earlier (although he'd either been too well shielded for her to confirm her suspicion or he was artificially augmenting his psychic shields somehow), Sophia was still startled to see Malcolm Atherton-Haldane abruptly emerge from one of the crypt's access panels set into the floor of the cathedral. The panel came flying up with a clang and a blast of light and smoke before the Camberian Pretender emerged from below, apparently levitating until his feet cleared the opening, revealing to those in the front rows that he was actually riding a sport hoverboard. As Henry and Michael dashed forward to interpose themselves between the invader and their Queen, both firing off quick bursts from their weapons that should have immediately pierced skin, he laughed before making a quick swatting motion with focused power and intent that was not quite enough to sweep them off their feet, but they found themselves needing to concentrate on holding their ground.

"Did you truly think I would have shown up without some basic protection, gentlemen?" he asked almost amiably as he stepped closer. "Step aside, vassals, it's my cousin your little Queen Bee I've come to visit. I believe she's laid claim to something that is rightfully mine, and I should like it back now."

Sophia stood. "If you are referring to Gwynedd, then you are quite mistaken. King Reginald's Act of Attainder against his son Prince Halbert and any future descendants was extremely clear on the matter."

"And Princess Adelia Haldane's - my _mother's_ \- marriage into the Atherton-Haldane line restored our birthright!" claimed the Pretender.

"Also highly debatable, since although Adelia's marriage was intended to heal a rift in Gwyneddan/Camberian relations, the original Act of Attainder was not waived in the betrothal contract. In fact, Princess Adelia specifically renounced her place in the Gwyneddan succession as one of the terms agreed to before Alaric III consented to the marriage. Reluctantly, I might add," Sophia countered.

"In any case, it's immaterial," Morgan Haldane said, having risen to his feet and stepped forward as the Queen and Pretender were verbally sparring. "Even if the Act of Attainder had been nullified by Princess Adelia's marriage into your House - which I agree with Her Majesty that it was _not_ \- that would only make you fourth in line to the throne, not the rightful King of Gwynedd."

Malcolm's icy gaze swept Morgan scornfully before making a seemingly idle perusal of the audience seated behind the young Duke. Most of the onlookers were either frozen in stunned shock or highly agitated, some beginning to surge out of the cathedral in panic, others streaming forward, wanting to intervene but cut off from their Queen by the barrier ward. His glance fell upon one woman who had none of these reactions, but whose gaze met his steadily. His heart leapt in delight, but he made himself focus on the young Corwyn stripling once again.

"And you must be the Corwyn youth. I suppose I must concede the point, though there is an easy enough solution to the dilemma." He gave the younger Haldane duke a cold smile.

"For once I quite agree with you," Morgan said, "which is why I challenge you to a formal Duel Arcane as Queen's Champion to Her _rightful_ Majesty Sophia the Second of Gwynedd."

The Pretender's smile grew to a feral grin. "You challenge _me?_ How droll! Youngling, you make this far too easy. But why bother with formalities? If you're so eager to die, I could just take care of it without all the traditionalist nonsense. I aim to please, you know."

He raised a hand and began to utter a spell, but found himself unexpectedly unable to complete the utterance. Turning, he found himself facing four Deryni entering the cathedral behind him via a side entrance. Three of them were silently mouthing some sort of preventative counterspell while the fourth raised a warning hand towards him.

"I believe you will discover that the Gwyneddan people still cherish those traditions you dismiss as nonsense, Duke Malcolm. And one Deryni tradition that has continued from ancient days is the right of the Crown - or, in this case, the Queen's Champion - to call upon the services of the Camberian Council for fair arbitration of disputes and Duels Arcane. Her Majesty had the foresight to request our aid in anticipation of your arrival, and therefore we present ourselves to assure that both challenger and challenged will conduct these proceedings in a fair and above-board manner. Or _we_ will take matters into our own hands." Despite the mild delivery, Peter Astari's warning was clear. It was underlined by the arrival of the rest of the Council, whose delay in joining the others had been caused by the necessity of having to make their way around the barrier wards by exiting the Cathedral and re-entering through the same door the others had entered.

"You bloody dare!" Malcolm snarled.

"Yes, we bloody well do!" Peter replied. "May I remind you that this is Gwynedd, a civilized nation that adheres to the rule of law, and not _simply_ the law of survival of the fittest! If you would fight for Gwynedd, the first thing you must learn is that this Kingdom will not stand for tyrannical rule. But I believe the Queen's Champion has offered to do his best to make the question moot. Do you now accept his challenge?"

Malcolm studied the unexpected interlopers, wishing fervently that Alisandra had managed to complete her mission to kill the interfering Council busybodies rather than bungling the job. Still, now that he'd spotted her in the audience, perhaps there was a chance for him to turn the tables. After all, his claim to the Gwyneddan throne could hardly be contested once he defeated his rivals in a formal Duel, but if he must fight on their anal-retentive terms, he might as well wipe out both of his rivals in one blow. He and his Queen could then pick off the individual members of the Council later, now that he had seen them and could identify them later. Or could he? To his annoyance, he found himself unable to focus clearly on their features. He shook his head, turning back to his challenger, irritated.

"I believe that as the challenged, I am allowed to set the terms of the duel?" he asked in a voice deceptively mild considering the anger brewing deep within him. "Very well then, here are my terms. I agree to take on the challenge of the so-called Queen's Champion of Gwynedd. As the challenged, I decree that this Duel shall be to the death, and that it should be a double duel. To clarify, I agree to the challenge by Morgan Haldane, but only if Sophia Haldane joins us in the circle as well. And to my own side, I call my vassal Alisandra to support my claim to Gwynedd's throne."

"But . . . ." Sophia whirled on Peter Astari in shock. "He can't do that, can he?"

Astari looked profoundly unhappy, but there was nothing technically illegal in the terms Malcolm had set. "I'm afraid so, Ma'am; as the challenged, it is his right to set the terms of the Duel, although the Duke of Corwyn can always withdraw his challenge if the terms are not agreeable to him. And as far as the Council's arbitration is concerned, the challenged's vassal is also allowed to refuse to participate in the Duel - just because she has been named in the proposed terms, that does not bind her to agree to participate - though of course she may suffer repercussions for such refusal that we would not be able to prevent. Unless, of course, she chooses to call upon our aid, but not being a subject of Your Majesty's Kingdom or even a citizen of one of the Ancient Kingdoms, that matter would be more properly referred to Camberia's own Council. Such as it is." A wry tug at his lips spoke of his own personal feelings toward that less than august body.

Morgan glared at the Pretender as he weighed the options. His aim had been to protect Sophia from any challenge, not to draw her into one and risk the loss of both rightful heirs to the throne of Gwynedd in the process. Yet not to fight Malcolm now meant never knowing a moment's peace or safety until the man lay dead, his body produced as proof that he would never again emerge from the shadows to threaten Sophia or, for that matter, himself.

Sophia gave him a measured look, appearing to have come to the same conclusion, and took his hand. He squeezed hers, considering their odds of survival. Malcolm had the clear advantage of experience; Morgan's main hope had been in having had more formal (though not necessarily better) training than the Pretender's, and perhaps in having younger reflexes and greater endurance. But Sophia was untested, completely untrained, and though in theory she had been given the fullness of her Haldane powers during her Empowerment ceremony, those powers were as yet completely untested. And calling the former Alisandra into the Circle might be more of a detriment to Malcolm's plans than he realized, but Morgan still had his qualms about her intentions. If she had not truly become integrated into a completely Healed Caroline Sheraton-Whitfield, that would leave him and Sophia doubly vulnerable in the Duel Arcane, facing off against a trained assassin in addition to the Camberian Pretender.

"If I am to be drawn into this challenge, Mr Arbitrator, may I set a few more terms of my own, since it appears I am now being directly challenged by the Pretender?" asked Sophia.

The Councilors appeared to confer silently, though the conference was extremely brief. "This is an irregular circumstance, but we are agreed that you should have that right, Your Majesty."

"Very well, my terms are these. The Pretender has specified that the Duel is to be to the death, yet that was before he also drew me and another participant into his terms. Therefore, the issue of how to determine a clear victor needs to be clarified. If both parties of one side are killed during the duel, then that would indicate a clear victor and the protective wards will come down at that time. If, however, the duel leaves only one survivor alive on each side, then the remaining combatants shall be held under separate wards until the people of Gwynedd can choose for themselves which Haldane they wish to confirm as their sovereign." She smiled at Malcolm's nonplussed expression. "Perhaps you have different ways in Camberia, but in Gwynedd the Crown serves the people of this kingdom, she - or he - does not subjugate. As the Council Arbitrator stated earlier, the people of Gwynedd will not abide a tyrant. If you wish to rule this Kingdom, you must win her love and respect."

Malcolm whirled to protest Sophia's terms to the Council arbiters. "I have already specified this duel is to be to the death! This is a clear violation of my terms!"

Peter Astari shook his head. "As Morgan Haldane's Challenged, you had the right to set terms for the original challenge. Since you chose to issue Challenge to Her Majesty and called upon your vassal to second you, they too have the right to set terms to this secondary Challenge. However, this does not fully negate your terms of dueling to the death. In the event that the sovereign must be decided by the people of Gwynedd, then whichever participant is not chosen will die via lawful execution as a Pretender to the Throne. Since it is highly unlikely that either of you is willing to allow the other to simply walk free after this Duel, I trust this amendment to the terms will be acceptable to both parties."

"I accept the amendment," stated Sophia. Malcolm remained briefly silent as he pondered his options, then he added, "As I have included my vassal Alisandra to second me, she should have the right to set final terms."

Peter nodded. Turning to the Camberian woman, who had been ushered in by Lord Arilan, Lady Violet, and Elspeth McIntyre while the previous terms were being set, he asked her, "Do you agree to participate in this Duel, and if so, do you wish to set any final terms?"

Malcolm's vassal - or former vassal? - glanced briefly at the two Gwyneddan Haldanes, her features expressionless and shields fully raised, giving no hint of her personal thoughts. She turned back to the Council. "I am willing to participate in the Duel. I have no further terms to add, as it appears that anything I might have wished to add has already been covered, and my understanding is that I am not allowed to fully negate any previously set terms, only modify them?"

"That is correct," Peter confirmed.

"Then I accept the terms in full and have nothing further to add."


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

 _Early afternoon  
The Cathedral of Saint George  
City of Rhemuth  
December 31, 2021_

The Duel Arcane began after a short pause to allow the Archbishop of Rhemuth to be carried out of the cathedral for medical attention, for after lodging a feeble protest that had gone mostly unheeded during the sudden disruption of Malcolm Atherton-Haldane's precipitous arrival, he had fallen into a dead faint sometime between the interruption of his funeral service and the setting of the terms for the duel.

As the four participants took their places, Malcolm cast a disdainful sneer at his opponents. "Shall we dispense with the archaic tradition of pretty rhymes? I'm afraid I'm not really the lyrical sort."

"I have no objection," replied Sophia. "It's not as though we're engaging in mortal combat just to determine the next Poet Laureate."

"That would certainly cut down on the competition," Morgan muttered under his breath, and despite the grim circumstances they found themselves in, his quiet quip somehow helped strengthen her courage. Trust her cousin to bring up her spirits as much as possible with a flash of humor - or perhaps he also needed to bolster his own. She gave him an appreciative smile.

"Let's just get this over with, shall we?" snarled Malcolm with an impatient glare towards the Camberian Council members presiding over the duel. Beside him, Caroline remained completely impassive.

Peter nodded. The five Council members who had been chosen amongst themselves to take primary responsibility for arbitrating the duel - Peter Astari, Father Devlin, Lady Violet, Lady Maureen, and Lord James - now took up their position, the latter four taking their places at the four cardinal directions, forming a square around the combatants roughly twenty feet to a side. Into the center of this formation, Peter Astari entered, facing both sets of combatants with a solemn expression before addressing them and the onlookers who watched the proceedings with mingled trepidation and awe.

"Thus saith the Lord Camber of blessed memory, thus saith the Holy One who taught us the Way. Thus it has been written, thus it shall be done. Blessed be the Name of the Most High."

Kneeling, he traced a sign on the marble floor of the cathedral. The lines he traced glowed with a golden light.

Father Devlin spoke next, raising his arms as he did so. "Blessed be the Creator, yesterday and today, the Beginning and the End, the Alpha and the Omega." As he spoke, Peter continued tracing sigils, forming a cross with the Greek letters inscribed at the top and bottom of the figure. "His are the seasons and the ages, to Him glory and dominion through all the ages of eternity. Blessed be the Lord, blessed be Holy Camber."

As he completed his blessing, Peter inscribed more symbols at the angles of the cross-sigils of the Councilors to signify their protection over the dueling circle. He exited the square then, and Lady Violet took up the ritual incantation, also with upraised arms. "I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End, saith the Lord. He that overcometh, the same shall be clothed in white raiment, and I will not blot out his name in the Book of Life, but I will confess his name before my Father and before his angels."

Lady Maureen continued, assuming the same posture as the previous two corners. "Blessing and honor, glory and power, be unto Him that sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb for ever and ever. Let the Lord lend His countenance to the virtuous and defend the cause of the just. Raise the light of Thy favor upon this circle, O Lord, that they who stand within shall know Thy majesty and shrink not from Thy judgment."

As Malcolm stifled a bored yawn, Lord James took up the ritual, raising his arms. As light began to stream between the four Deryni - silver and gold, blue-green and violet - he added "Guard Thy servants, O Lord. Strengthen this circle, that nothing may enter from without, that none may aid the four who stand embattled here. Protect those outside the circle from the terrible powers soon to be unleashed within, and guard us from Thy wrath." As he spoke the light spread to encompass the space within the four corners, forming a protective dome of mingled colors.

"As it was in the earliest days of our beginning," all four Councilors chanted, "and as it shall be for all time to come, O Lord, so let it be today. So let it be."

As they finished, thunder rumbled overhead and the mingled light fused into a hemisphere of pale blue brilliance around the eight councilors and combatants, forming a dome that was transparent but veiled, slightly obscuring the people within. Thus the Outermost Ward was formed. Within this circle the combatants would form an Inner Ward which not even the Councilors would be able to breach.

"The Outerness is sealed," Peter Astari now declared to all. "The Innerness must follow. Mark well, until the terms of the Duel have been fully satisfied, the Innerness remains. Only the victors will leave this arena. I charge you then to make your peace. Set forth the inner circle and do what you will. On your honor and in the Name of the Most High, proceed."

Within the protective circle, Morgan and Malcolm now each took up opposing corners, Sophia facing off against Caroline. Morgan, as first challenger, spread his hands to either side, crimson fire leaping from his fingertips to inscribe a semicircle embracing himself and his Queen, a brilliant arc of light that stopped a few feet short of the outer ring. Malcolm did likewise, his answering fire glowing with a reddish-violet light. The colors merged, forming a magenta dome and further obscuring the proceedings within the innermost circle.

"Pardon me if I did not come prepared to drink a toast to my noble opponents," Malcolm observed sardonically. "Shall we begin?" Without waiting for a reply, he struck first, sending a testing strike against Morgan Haldane.

The fray began, Morgan easily countering Malcolm's initial attack. As the men continued to battle, Sophia began to feel the Haldane power rise with her, fully awakening for the first time since her Empowerment. She let loose an experimental testing strike, countered by Caroline, who met her gaze with cool scrutiny, no hint of her earlier willingness to ally herself with the Gwyneddan Haldanes now showing in her expression. The Queen tamped down her mounting worry that she and Morgan had somehow been deceived despite both Morgan's and Lord James' Truth-Reading of Caroline's intentions towards them. There was little that could be done now in any case; if Caroline had recanted her earlier decision to support them, or if Malcolm had somehow managed to wrest back his previous control over her again, then Sophia would not hesitate to strike the Camberian assassin down if she must. She could not allow her sympathy for the woman to cloud her judgment now.

The duel continued, each round of testing strikes becoming stronger than the last. Malcolm, now satisfied that he had taken both opponents' full measure, launched a frenzied attack on Morgan, calling forth a vision of the Queen's Champion's greatest fear- an image of Sophia lying dead before him, of his failure to protect the monarch he'd sworn to serve. Morgan sent forth a furious counterattack, regaling Malcolm with the image of his own severed head, returned to Camberia as a potent reminder to his brother Aubrey of the fate of Pretenders to the Gwyneddan throne.

Malcolm, incensed, abandoned the fear tactics of such spellwork in order to deal a sudden energy attack against Morgan. Red-violet fire erupted in the Queen's Champion's direction, barely parried by Morgan, although he managed to deflect it, sending a singeing surge of energy backlash in both Camberian opponents' direction. Malcolm, without a moment's hesitation, turned his fury towards Sophia now, throwing a bolt of energy her way. Sophia managed to deflect this as well, though her opposition only served to fan the flames of Malcolm's anger. He redoubled his efforts, flaring a fiery blast in her direction.

It was then that two actions simultaneously occurred which deflected the full force of Malcolm's energies away from Sophia. Morgan darted forward to shield Sophia, absorbing some of the blast of power, but at the same time Caroline launched an attack of her own, apparently in support of Malcolm so far as either Haldane could tell, yet it had managed to glance off his attack and deflect it away from Sophia so that what could have been a killing blast became no more than a glancing blow.

Once the glare of the attack died down enough for the combatants to see clearly again, to Sophia's alarm Morgan lay sprawled at her feet, gravely injured. Malcolm, allowing himself a smug smile, raised his hands in preparation to finish his challenger off with another blast of power, but at that moment his vassal launched a sudden, violent attack on him, sending him reeling backwards nearly into the roiling energies of the ward behind him. Sophia took advantage of his distraction, sending a volley of power in Malcolm's direction. In his fury of realization that Caroline had somehow managed to defect to his enemies' side, he parried Sophia's blast towards his second, killing her outright.

Now the duel was down to three, Haldanes against Atherton-Haldane, though of the Gwyneddan combatants only one had the strength to remain standing. Sophia, calling upon the reservoir of Haldane powers within her, let loose another ferocious strike against Malcolm, channeling the full force of her fear for Morgan and her anger against the Camberian Pretender into the attack. Faced off against each other now, Rightful Queen and Pretender, blast followed blast as Sophia advanced on Malcolm, determined now to protect her cousin and defeat the tyrant who'd dared to harm him.

Thinking to catch Sophia off guard and thereby throw off her defense, Malcolm called up a vivid image of his tryst with Sybilla, the two entwined in a passionate embrace. Undaunted, Sophia flung an image of Sybilla's dying moments at him, along with the revelation of Araxelle's true parentage. It was, for the briefest of moments, Malcolm's turn to falter.

Thus occupied, the two opponents left standing at first failed to notice Morgan, rallying his energies in the hope of adding some final defense of his Queen, some spell that would throw the duel more in Sophia's favor. Fighting to remain conscious, he reached deep within himself, seeking to fuel his last effort to protect Sophia with the mingled rage and desire for vengeance that roiled within him against the Camberian Pretender.

It was at that moment that a still small voice deep inside him gently spoke. _So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love._

He had to be hallucinating. Morgan tried again, reaching for his anger as Malcolm's and Sophia's blasts flashed over him, but this time the voice continued, _Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friend._

Or his Queen. But wasn't that what he was attempting to do?

It came to him then. His anger was not what Sophia needed most from him in that moment, nor was it his desire to be avenged against their attacker for the loss of their family or for his pretensions against Sophia's throne. No, these violent emotions, potent though they were, could not be summoned up with enough strength by his weakened body to counteract the full force of Malcolm's will. But there was one weapon Morgan had left, one which Malcolm could not possibly understand, and that was the weapon of self-sacrificial love - Morgan's love for his Queen that transcended Malcolm Atherton-Haldane's lust for power.

Sophia, Morgan now realized, had the full potential within herself to defeat their rival; Morgan need not do it for her. But he would gladly expend himself to lend his aid one final time, serving her in his living and his dying as he'd once knelt before her and sworn a holy vow to do. With his remaining strength he reached out to touch her, linking with her to pour out the last reserves of his energy, his greater combat and magical experience, and his sheer will for her survival.

Sophia in that moment sensed Morgan's choice. Tears of grief stung her eyes, but she blinked them away fiercely, for even at that moment she could see Malcolm mouthing the words and summoning up his energies for a spell against them both. _Saint George and Saint Camber, defend us!_ she found herself praying as she braced herself against what she sensed would be their opponent's final attack. _Lord Most High, help thy servants in our time of need; cast down the oppressor and defend the cause of the just!_

Malcolm seemed to transform before her eyes, taking on the illusory form of a dragon looming above her and her stricken Champion. Her response came instinctively as she drew upon her reserves of power and Morgan's experience and will to summon up an answering form, calling up for herself the image of the Haldane lion, rising up against the threat to her Kingdom. The magical forms thus summoned bent will against will, seemingly evenly matched at first, neither able to subdue the other as they battled each other in a writhing, sinuous dance.

Morgan managed a final whisper. "For Queen and Kingdom. I love . . . ."

A faint flutter of gryphon's wings merged with the Haldane Lion's form, launching it high into the air to rip out the throat of the Dragon.

The wards dropped, revealing to all the outcome of the Duel. Sophia stood alone, Caroline's charred body and Malcolm's bloodied remains at her feet. Also sprawled at the Queen's feet lay her Champion. Elation mingled with dismay as the congregation realized what had befallen Corwyn's Duke.

The Queen dropped to her knees, cradling her fallen cousin - her last remaining family - in her arms. He was not dead, not yet, but she could feel his life force beginning to drain away. In grief and desperation she cried out, "Sweet Saint Camber, please, no!"

* * *

Morgan felt the darkness close around him, but just as he resigned himself to his fate, the gloom abated. He found himself floating up a tunnel of light. He'd heard of this before; he was dying, then. He felt no fear, no regret now, just a quiet certainty that at the last, he had not failed his Queen.

The tunnel opened up into a brilliantly lit vision, an expanse of green fields and sunlight. Before him stood his family, smiling their approval of him, though as he attempted to join them, Kelric stepped forward with a staying hand.

 _Oh no, you don't!_ his cousin and dearest friend informed him, an undercurrent of laughter in his voice. _You can't stay here, mate. Your job's not done yet, I'm afraid. You swore to serve your Queen, now go back and do so._

 _I_ have _done so!_ Morgan replied, startled. _I vowed to live and die in her service, and I have._

 _Yes, well, you've got this far, but Sophia wants you back now._ Kelric grinned, love and amusement dancing in his eyes. _And you_ know _how stubborn that woman can be!_

 _We'll wait for you until your time comes_ , his father assured him, his mother smiling lovingly at her son as she stood at her husband's side.

 _And remember we will always be here for you, watching over and supporting you until you are ready to join us on this side of the Veil,_ added Simone with a gentle smile, her children Aidan and Araxia nestled safely in her arms.

 _Well done, Queen's Champion!_ Araxelle's approbation washed over Morgan like a warming glow. _I have one final request, hard though it might be for you to hear. Once you return to yourself, let no one desecrate the remains of the Camberian pretender. He stands in judgment before a Higher Power now, but however consumed he was by his greed and lust for power, he was still Haldane, if only distantly, and much more closely related to my line than he ever realized until the end. Take the higher road; send him back to his kin for burial, if Aubrey will have him back. Then let him go completely; don't allow hatred or bitterness to remain stored away within your heart, for that would only give him lingering power over you. Let his death be final; he deserves no more than that._

Morgan expected her command to sting, but to his surprise his thirst for vengeance and the fiery core of anger that he had previously clung to for strength was now gone, replaced by a sublime peace, easing what remained of his grief. He bowed deeply, kneeling at the late Queen's feet to kiss her hand.

 _Go now,_ said Stefanie. _Sophia is calling for you._

* * *

A hubbub arose from the crowd, and someone called for a Healer, but at that moment Sophia lay a loving hand upon Morgan's brow, seeking to restore him by pouring her own life energies back into him. Suddenly she caught a glimpse of a grey-robed figure before her, laying ghostly hands over hers as she fought for Morgan's life, guiding her as Healing power welled up within her, washing through her into her fallen Champion. With her inner sight she Saw the extent of his injuries, external, internal, and psychic, addressing them all with her Healing touch.

Morgan felt himself being tugged back through the tunnel as if swept along in an inexorable flood. The tunnel narrowed once more, fading to a pinprick, until he found himself cocooned in his body once more.

A ripple of awe swept through the crowd as Morgan took a deep, almost convulsive breath, and then another, opening his eyes. He reached up to cup Sophia's cheek in his hand. The Queen, weeping tears of joy and relief, cradled him in her arms.

* * *

 _The Kingdom of Gwynedd  
Later afternoon  
December 31, 2021_

The jubilation and relief of Her Majesty's safe deliverance and her Champion's survival and restoration to good health spread quickly, not merely within the Cathedral and its environs, but throughout the entire Kingdom as well, for it had been centuries since the right of sovereignty had last been challenged by a pretender to the throne, and certainly never before in an age of electronic technology and instantaneous communication. Within minutes, the crowds of Rhemuth citizens and visitors who had thronged to mourn the passage of Queen Araxelle and her young family now swelled in number to celebrate their new Queen's victory over Malcolm Atherton-Haldane's attempted coup.

Within the Cathedral, however, the bodies of the slain had been removed. The Archbishop, recovering from his swoon not long before the end of the magical duel, now sought to restore some semblance of order over the proceedings, noting with vast relief that not only had his Sovereign survived the duel but the Cathedral's medieval tiled floors had remained unscathed as well. As Morgan Haldane regained his feet, escorted back to his seat by the Healer who had been summoned as Sophia had worked to bring him back from the brink of death (for Sophia wished to ensure there was no area of injury left unnoted due to her inexperience with her newly-discovered Gift), the victorious Queen now stood to face the congregation who had turned out for what had been scheduled to be a state funeral but had unexpectedly turned into a battle for the Kingdom itself. She addressed also those people gathered at the public screens in the Rhemuth city squares as well as those well outside the area, to the far reaches of Gwynedd's borders and beyond. Raising her arms to gather their attention, she signaled them to silence before speaking, and the loud excited babble of voices became a hushed murmur as the people waited to hear their Sovereign's words.

"My beloved people," she began, "we stand now not simply at the brink of a new year, but also of a new reign. But let us not forget now the reason we have gathered here today. We celebrate this day Our victory over the Camberian Pretender, yes, and also the restoration of Our beloved cousin and Champion, but also we gather to celebrate the lives of those we have but recently lost. Malcolm Atherton-Haldane was ultimately responsible for the deaths that brought us together here today. He sought to wrest even the solace of this day of remembrance from me - from all of us - but he has lost this day and now we shall take it back."

She resumed her place by Morgan's side, taking his hand in hers, and together they waited for the Archbishop to resume the memorial service for their loved ones.

"I am the Resurrection and the Life . . . ."


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter Thirty**

 _Morning  
The Royal Council Chamber  
Eirian House  
New Year's Day, 2022_

The Queen of Gwynedd smiled in appreciation as she faced the others gathered around her Council Chamber table. On her right sat Morgan Haldane, Duke of Corwyn, fully recovered now from his ordeal of the afternoon before.

"I wanted to thank you all personally for your support over the past few weeks, and especially yesterday," she told the members of the Camberian Council gathered there for possibly the last time, at least as far as could be foreseen at this point. "There are a few matters of business that I think would be beneficial for us to discuss amongst ourselves so that we may plan out how to best work together for the healthy restoration of the Kingdom. My people have been through a great many shocks in these past few days, but hopefully now that Malcolm Atherton-Haldane's pretensions to the throne have been dealt with, we can now have a chance to pull together and heal. Not that I think we no longer have need to remain vigilant against other threats, but I for one will be glad to be able to set foot outside of warded grounds again without being terrified at every moment that I'm laying myself open for an ambush at every turn."

"We would be glad to extend our support to Your Majesty in all matters that lend themselves to the betterment and restored balance to the Kingdom," said Peter. "Hopefully we will continue to remain in agreement on what those matters might be and the best solutions for them."

Sophia grinned. "That's all I can ask of you cagey lot, I suppose. Though I _am_ glad we are able to work together, and that I can at least be assured of your loyalties to my Kingdom, if not always your agreement with myself or with my House. I believe we can work together from that foundation, as long as we can continue to respect each other's differing perspectives and focus more on the issues that unite rather than divide us. Not that there are any particularly divisive issues springing to mind at the moment. _Are_ there any I ought to be aware of?"

"No, Ma'am, not at present," Lord Arilan assured her. "Unlike others of your House, you've kept a careful impartiality thus far in not showing too much favor on one side of the other in the continuous delicate balance between Human and Deryni relations. And I think we needn't worry about you attempting to take a more dictatorial approach to government than would be in the best interests of the people. With the broadcast of your Duel Arcane foremost on everyone's mind at the moment, there will be a greater need to assure the more magic-leery people in the Kingdom that just because you possess your ancestral Haldane Potential in full force does not mean you plan to flaunt those gifts from here on out to wield power like a hammer rather than as a protective shield over our Kingdom. But I believe you have enough wisdom and discernment to understand and ease such fears within our Human population, yet without feeling the need to go to the same extremes as Her late Majesty - if you'll pardon me for saying so, Ma'am - and abandoning the rightful use of your powers altogether."

"I thank you for your faith in me, and I hope it continues to be justified. I suppose it helps that for most of my life I have considered myself more Human than Deryni, not knowing the facts of my heritage until last week, so hopefully I will continue to be able to see the perspective of both sides." Sophia gave the Camberian Council a wry smile. "And I suppose I can count on at least one or two of you being very willing to inform me of when you think I've overstepped in one direction or the other. Some of you are most definitely not shy about sharing your opinions." Her gaze met Elspeth's, who laughed.

"Speaking of the Duel on live broadcast," Sophia added, addressing Peter Astari again as the Council's coadjutor and spokesman, "Has that broadcast jeopardized your anonymity or put you in a more compromised position in regard to the confidential conditions in which I know your Council prefer to work? Not that I don't have a few personal qualms about the level of secrecy your body customarily adheres to, yet on the other hand I do understand the necessity of not allowing yourselves to become walking targets. I did notice that there seemed to be some form of glamour helping to obscure your identities yesterday, but I'm not well versed enough in how the illusion works to know if the cameras might have seen through it and revealed more than you would have liked to share. Are you likely to need increased protection now?"

"No, Ma'am. Our identities are still safeguarded. We _do_ have a long history of having had need to publicly intervene in Duels Arcane and various other Deryni matters as representatives of the Council from time to time while also needing to keep the individual identities of those on the Council secured, so we have learned a few tricks along the way over the past few centuries."

"I'm glad to hear it. All right, on to the next business." Turning to Morgan, the Queen asked, "I understand the arrangements for yesterday's casualties have been attended to?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Arrangements have been made to return each of the casualties to his or her next of kin. In addition to the two Camberian combatants, there was a guard who died attempting to protect the entrance to the crypt that Duke Malcolm breached. Father Devlin dealt with their spiritual needs before the bodies were taken away."

"Yes," Devlin confirmed. "I administered Last Rites and granted conditional absolution to them all-not that I believe Duke Malcolm would have been inclined to request or receive it, but it was offered nonetheless. His absolution or lack thereof is a matter between him and God."

"Thank you," Sophia said quietly. "Into whose keeping did you commit Caroline Sheraton-Whitfield? In the end, she kept her faith with me rather than siding against us, and I would see that sacrifice honored. If Mr Whitfield has any qualms about accepting her remains and making arrangements for her memorial, I will be glad to do so in his stead."

"I'll let him know," Morgan assured her.

"I trust arrangements are already being made to bury the guard with full military honors? What was his name?"

"Police Constable Roger Hammett. He leaves behind a wife and two young children."

"Thank you. If you would give my private secretary their names and contact information, I'll make arrangements for their continued support and education." Sophia steepled her fingers, taking a deep breath. "This morning when I contacted His Majesty Aubrey regarding the arrangements for returning Duke Malcolm's remains to Camberia, he extended his official apology for the actions of his late brother, and he disavowed any foreknowledge of or agreement to Duke Malcolm's plots against myself and the Kingdom. As one might expect, of course, under the circumstances, regardless of whether there is any actual truth in his statement or not. In any case, while the attempt from a member of the Camberian Royal Family to kill off the legitimate Haldane line in Gwynedd could easily be construed as a declaration of war against our Kingdom - and certainly from Malcolm's standpoint I can hardly imagine it was ever intended to mean otherwise - I don't think it is in Gwynedd's best interests to continue hostilities between our two Kingdoms unless Aubrey himself continues in his brother's footsteps in attempting to press his non-existent claim to our throne. We may have moved past our initial state of national emergency, but we are still a nation in crisis, and I would rather focus on moving the Kingdom to a state of greater stability while we continue to assess whether Camberia will continue to remain a threat in future. Unless Aubrey commits some further provocation of his own, in which case we shall need to take decisive measures to protect our people, I plan to continue a cautious and watchful defensive posture for now rather than returning aggression for aggression." Sophia gave a grim smile. "Though should Aubrey later prove to have the same predatory inclinations towards our Kingdom as his brother, you may rest assured that I will not hesitate to swat that Camberian Dragon straight out of the sky!"

* * *

 _Afternoon  
The Queen's Private Office  
Eirian House  
New Year's Day, 2022_

"Glad that's over," Sophia said as she all but fell into her desk chair. "I've never been one for morning meetings, but it seemed to go well, I think." She smiled at her new private secretary, seated at a smaller workstation in a corner of the room. "Give me five minutes with my precious coffee before you start throwing paperwork at me."

Diana Layton laughed. "Yes, Ma'am. It should keep for that long, at least."

Jen brought the small coffee service from a nearby sideboard and refilled the Queen's cup. As she did so, she eyed the newest member of Sophia's staff curiously. She and Sophia seemed to be well acquainted already, though that was hardly a surprise; according to the new private secretary's resumé, she'd been working for the Royal Family for several years already, albeit for the late Princess of Meara rather than at Rhemuth Castle serving the late Queen. She had also, according to the gossip rags at least, been romantically linked briefly with Morgan Haldane several years back, before the death of his father had left him the sudden inheritor of a duchy and unready to commit to any other major life changes at the time. Jen wondered how true the rumors actually were, or if they - as with many other tabloid news stories - were greatly exaggerated.

"Has Eilonwy returned yet?" Sophia asked, returning Jen's attention to the present. After the Queen's return to Eirian House after the Duel Arcane and her family's funeral, Eilonwy had been granted overnight leave to take care of a few personal matters at her Rhemuth flat before returning to Eirian House to help Sophia and Jen with the final selections for additional ladies-in-waiting to add to Her Majesty's retinue. The women under consideration were all people Sophia had known personally for long enough to consider them likely to hold up well in such a position of responsibility and trust, but she had asked for their input and final recommendations to narrow down the list, since it was likely that both would find themselves scheduled to work alongside one or more of the others at some point, and Sophia wanted to be sure her confidantes would work together well as a cohesive team.

"She rang a few minutes ago to say she should be on her way back shortly." Glancing at the clock, Jen added, "I would think she should be here at any minute, barring anything unforeseen."

Sophia suppressed a smile. "Or barring Patrick's desire to, shall we say, 'celebrate life' again after our spot of trouble yesterday afternoon?"

Jen laughed. "That too, I suppose. Newlyweds!"

Sophia shrugged as she took the top folder off the small pile Diana set on her desk and flipped it open. "I suppose the man deserves some reward for his part in keeping the city safe from our HA gas-lobbing renegades yesterday morning . . . is this the police dossier, Diana?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Good. I'm quite curious to see who Mr Armitage has been conspiring with, and how far-reaching this alleged Human-rights organization actually is. See that a copy gets to Lord Arilan for analysis, will you? He seems to have a talent for pulling together connections and conclusions from nearly disparate sets of data. Hopefully he can wrap his head around all this and sort out who this lot of renegades has been interacting with in other areas of the Kingdom."

"I've already made a digital copy for him; he stopped by earlier just after your meeting to say he was on his way over to visit Healer O'Flynn for a bit should you require him, but that he would stop back by here on his way out to pick up the file, since he didn't wish it emailed."

"A sensible precaution, Mr Carbury's and the Lord Chamberlain's internet security systems notwithstanding," Sophia agreed. "I'd like to think Eirian House's servers are hacker-proof, though I suppose few systems are ever guaranteed to be fully secure."

No, if anything, the events of the previous day had shown Jen that nothing in life was entirely secure. Jen was still shaken by the thought of how close Morgan had come to death during the Duel Arcane.

The door opened, and as if summoned by her thoughts, the Duke of Corwyn arrived, in the company of an armsman announcing his entry into the royal presence. Jen kept her emotions contained and her thoughts tightly shielded; the last thing she wanted to do was make an utter fool of herself, not to mention be a disgrace to Her Majesty, by giving in to her urge to grab the damn git in a fierce embrace to reassure herself that he was, indeed, quite whole again before shaking him soundly for scaring the crap out of her! Nor did she want even a hint of those feelings to leak and be picked up on by a woman alleged to be one of Morgan's old flames.

Then again, hopefully there'd be no chance of that, shields or no shields. Diana Layton was Human, after all. That was some comfort, anyway. No, it was Morgan she'd need to guard her thoughts against. She wouldn't want him to think her the desperate sort who would read anything more into an offer of friendship than just that. It wasn't as if she'd really known him all that long at any rate.

The Duke cordially greeted both ladies in attendance on the Queen before drawing up a chair across the desk from Sophia. "I've had an interesting tour of the Rhemuth City Jail just now," he informed her.

She raised a teasing eyebrow at him. "Only had a second chance at life for less than a full day and you're _already_ getting in trouble with the law?"

"Funny." Morgan gave her an affectionate eyeroll. "DI Strachan has been a very busy man over the past day. I'm not entirely sure he's been to bed yet since yesterday. You'll be relieved to know that aside from a few minor injuries, there were no major casualties of the attempted M-Gas attack outside the Cathedral before the funeral started. Or tried to start, that is."

"Yes, so I see." Sophia pointed to the file before her. "Diana's already brought me the dossier he sent up this morning."

"Any thoughts on how we might reward him for his efforts?" Morgan asked.

"Aside from a week of uninterrupted sleep once all this has been sorted?" asked Sophia. "I was thinking perhaps a knighthood would be in order."

"Knighthoods generally are. In an Order, that is." Morgan leaned back in his chair with a carefree grin.

She laughed. "You're in a chipper mood."

"Having a new lease on life does seem to be having that effect. Our Castle bombing orchestrator isn't having the best afternoon of it, though, not that I can summon up much sympathy. Eric Armitage apparently never tumbled to the fact that it was a High Deryni Lord pulling at his puppet strings until the Duel Arcane yesterday. He was under the impression that he was working with the Camberian Human Underground. That's a severe loss of face before the rest of his organization. Even if he hadn't been in our custody, I don't think he'd have been able to retain leadership of Humanity Ascendant after this, between that and the embarrassment of their huge debacle with the M-Gas attack that turned out to be nothing more than dyed water vapor!"

"Surprise!" Sophia retorted. "Big Fish and Little Fish. Eric Armitage is just very lucky he didn't get swallowed up by the bigger predator. As it is, he's facing trial for treason and multiple counts of conspiracy to murder, but at least a lawful execution under Gwyneddan law should prove to be more humane than whatever Malcolm Atherton-Haldane had in store for him."

* * *

 _Afternoon  
Tre-Arilan  
New Year's Day, 2022_

James Arilan leaned against the paddock fence beside Heather O'Flynn as they watched Aderyn's first riding lesson. One of his grooms led her pony on a lunge line, allowing Aderyn to ride in a circle at a walk around him. Aderyn grinned as though she'd just taken first prize at an equestrian competition. She waved towards her mother, who smiled and waved back.

"It's lovely of you to invite us, James," Heather said, "although I should warn you this might be all she'll ever talk about in the next few weeks!"

"Hopefully I can talk you into bringing her back for more lessons, if the weather cooperates, though I've heard we're in for snow soon.. She seems to be taking to it rather well, doesn't she?" James smiled. "Any chance of getting _you_ on a horse?"

Heather laughed. "Well, I don't know about _that!"_

"Oh, come now, it'll be fun! Just a little trail ride to start off with - or you can ride pillion with me if you don't want to try riding alone, though I promise Bess is quite docile - and maybe a picnic lunch down in the valley."

"In winter?"

"Well, all right, maybe not winter. Late spring, then, after the worst of the rains, or perhaps early summer before it gets too hot?" James gave her a winning smile.

Heather paused only momentarily. "All right, I suppose I can give it a try."

A gust of wind picked up, causing her to pull her coat more tightly around herself. James pulled her close to him, sheltering her in his warmth. "Maybe we should go ahead and call them in for now. I believe Carbury has some cocoa and fresh biscuits waiting on us," he said.

* * *

 _Outside the Chapel Royal  
Eirian House  
Evening  
New Year's Day, 2022_

"Looking for me, or just slipping in to be alone with God for a bit?"

Sophia turned away from the chapel door to see Father Devlin dressed for venturing outdoors, the top of a regular button-down collar barely visible above his knit pullover and a slightly faded black jacket. "Oh, sorry, I didn't realize . . . Are you on your way out somewhere?" She tucked a stray lock of hair behind one ear self-consciously as it belatedly dawned on her that the question must sound a bit daft under the circumstances.

"I was about to head down to the village to explore a bit, but if you need me . . . ?"

"No!" It came out a little more vehement than she'd meant for it to, and her cheeks warmed. Laughing, she added, "I'm sorry, I mean yes, I _was_ looking for you, but no, it's nothing urgent. What I meant was, I don't want to get in the way of your plans for the evening. So, you're going to Woodbridge?"

"Yes, I thought it might be nice to have a look around the place, see what might be of interest down there, maybe check out a few of the local pubs, see if any are open for the New Year or if they've already rolled up the pavements for the evening, so to speak," Devlin replied.

"Sounds like fun. I don't suppose they've got a Gold Lion burger shop in a village that small?"

Devlin laughed. "I rather doubt it, but if I do find someplace open, shall I pick up a pub burger and chips for you?"

Sophia's eyes sparkled as a sudden thought occurred to her. "I've got a better idea!" She cast a quick look over her shoulder to make sure no one else was around before turning back to him, tracing an oval in the air around her face while mouthing the words to a spell. "Would you mind very much if I go too?" she asked upon completing her preparations. "This was what I came to show you, actually."

Devlin found himself chuckling as he looked down into pleading sky blue eyes framed by a cascade of golden curls. "Well, hello! I've not seen this face since our trip up from Tre-Arilan. Heather's finally taught you the trick to it, has she?"

"Yes, and I've been practicing for hours, trying to get it right, and finally managed it just today!"

He covered his mouth and chin with one hand as he studied the illusion. "Well done." Sophia beamed at him. "I don't really have a death wish, though, and if I take you off the palace grounds without checking with your armsmen first, one or both of them are likely to kill me."

"Well, I suppose if Michael came with us . . . ." Her smile faded. "I'm sorry, of course you're wanting a night away, after all that's happened lately, and I wasn't meaning to barge in . . . ."

"Sophia." The quiet utterance of her name stopped her flustered apology. He gave her a wry smile. "You're feeling caged, aren't you?"

"I . . . Yes. Just a little. I thought maybe, now that Malcolm's dead and Eric Armitage has been locked away . . . ." The bright blue eyes looked wistfully up at him.

"Come on, then. _If_ Michael says it's all right with him. There's room in the car if he wants to come with us. But you might want to consider changing first."

"Change? But . . .this is the only illusion I know yet, and do you really think I ought to go out there as just me?"

Devlin grinned. "I meant your clothes. That's a very pretty dress, but it looks a bit too queenly for a pub hop, don't you think? Could you find something warmer and maybe a little less top drawer?"

Her face lit up. "I think I can find something suitable." Her excitement was barely contained, warming him in its glow.

"I'll go bring the car around, then."

* * *

 _Night  
The Queen's Private Apartment  
Eirian House  
New Year's Day, 2022_

Jen stepped out of the Queen's Apartment to find Morgan Haldane just approaching it. "If you're looking for Sophia, she's out at present," she informed him. "I believe she has her phone with her, though, if you need to contact her."

"No, I was just at loose ends and thought I'd stop by, but I was actually hoping to find you," Morgan said.

"Really?" Jen quickly shielded a burst of elation. "Well, you've found me, it seems."

"So it seems." With a curious glance at Henry, still at his post at Her Majesty's apartment door, he added, "Where did Sophia go?"

"Oh, she's got Michael with her, don't worry. They're off checking out the nightlife down in Woodbridge with Father Devlin."

Morgan looked bemused. "It's _Woodbridge_ \- not much nightlife there, I shouldn't think!"

"Yes, well, she's been under a great deal of stress lately, you must admit, and now that security tensions have eased somewhat, she needs a bit of escape from the palace before she goes stark raving guano. Don't worry, Heather's taught her how to shift her appearance. No one will ever guess it's the Queen out pub hopping and letting her hair down with two attractive men in tow."

Morgan opened his mouth as if to reply, shut it again with a look of mild consternation. Henry stifled a chuckle as Jen's grin widened.

"So why was it you were coming to see me?" Jen prompted, steering his thoughts away from the alarming prospect of his baby cousin off on a pub crawl with two single men.

"Maybe we should . . . ah . . . go join them?" Morgan offered.

"Maybe we should most definitely _not,"_ Jen replied. "You don't want to remain the Royal Heir forever, do you?"

"You do have a point," Morgan conceded, albeit with some reluctance.

"Stop worrying, she'll be fine. Now, again with the coming here to see me?"

Morgan laughed. "I found myself rather at loose ends too tonight, so I stopped by the rec room to see if I might find some way to while away an hour or two, when I found this." He brandished a virtual reality cartridge at her. " _'_ _A Virtual Tour of Kelsonian-Era Rhemuth'_ by the University of Rhemuth's Department of Archeological Studies. Fancy a stroll through medieval Rhemuth with me?"

"Yes!" It was all she could do to refrain from snatching the VR cartridge from him. He grinned.

"I must admit to an ulterior motive," Morgan admitted as he escorted her down the corridor towards the recreational area downstairs.

"What's that?"

"Sophia and I have begun preliminary consulting with a variety of experts on the possibility of restoring Rhemuth Castle, perhaps as a royal residence again but as a memorial as well, with the more historic areas open to the public. We're looking at rebuilding it as close to the Kelsonian-era plan as possible - with allowances for modern conveniences in the offices and apartments, obviously! - and restoring the interior in a modernized, more comfortable version of that aesthetic as well, though perhaps with more period-appropriate reproduction furnishings in the historic areas, and possibly some sort of educational living history programming aspect there as well. We thought you might want to help out with that, seeing as it's your period of interest. How does 'Historical Consultant to Her Majesty for the Restoration of Rhemuth Castle' sound?"

"Are you kidding me? It sounds amazing!"

"Well, that was easily enough sorted. I'll let her know." Morgan opened the door to the recreational area, waving her ahead of him towards one of the VR console rooms. "It looks as though I'm to be kept fairly busy here for awhile, and I'm sure your time will soon be rather full as well, but I've not forgot I promised you another visit to Coroth once we can break free for more than a few hours at a time. Perhaps in spring after it warms up a bit?"

Jen felt a warm glow deep within. "Do you think you could arrange for no assassins to interrupt the evening next time?"

"I'll do my best," he assured her with a smile as he closed the door behind them and entered the VR cartridge into the playback system. A virtual reality world materialized around them, and in the distance Rhemuth Castle in the fullness of its ancient glory stood majestically above the city, the Haldane Lion flying proudly over the Keep. "Shall I turn on the guided tour's audio, or would you prefer we just wander about for a bit?"

"I think maybe I'd like to start with the original Cathedral."

"All right then, this street should lead straight to it." Morgan escorted her alongside the cobbled road, keeping her to the outside edge to avoid the horses, carts, and pedestrians traversing their route towards the tall spire in the distance. A cacophony of sound stirred from a nearby side street, and peering down it, they could see a boy driving a flock of geese to market.

A trumpet fanfare drew their attention to the main thoroughfare again, and the sound of horses' hooves approaching from the distance alerted bystanders to clear the street. It was a party of mounted men dressed in black and green livery, and leading them, flanked by a squire bearing the Corwyn banner, was the seventh Duke of Corwyn.

Jen watched in fascination as the party passed before them, headed towards the castle gatehouse, until they disappeared into the distance and the crowd filled the street once more. She turned then to find Morgan Haldane watching her, a carefully neutral expression on his face.

"Your illustrious ancestor Duke Alaric, I would imagine," Jen said.

"Seems likely," Morgan agreed.

She turned decisively towards the city center. "He's pretty hot, but you've got at least one advantage over him."

"Oh? What's that?" he asked.

"For one thing, he's been dead for the better part of a millennium now, but you, my lord, are very much alive." She grinned.

He smiled then. "Damn straight I am." He laid a hand lightly on her waist to guide her up the street. "And I intend on remaining that way for a very long time."

* * *

 **Epilogue**

 _Morning, Camberian Time  
(Late Evening, RST)  
Atherton Palace  
St. Michael's Province, Camberia  
January 2, 2022 (New Year's Day in Gwynedd)_

It was, King Aubrey decided, a not entirely unfortunate conclusion to his brother Malcolm's aspirations. The Duel Arcane against the Haldane Bitch had at least managed to rid him of a potential rival for his own throne, after all, and for that Aubrey could hardly be completely ungrateful. Far overshadowing this benefit, however, was the fact that Sophia Haldane had quite decisively triumphed over an Atherton-Haldane not merely in public view, but on the world stage, and _that_ Aubrey would never forgive. It had been a humiliation to his House, and as such it could not be allowed to stand unchallenged.

He was growing old, though, and unlike his brother, he had no desire to attain the throne of Gwynedd. He had his hands quite full already here in Camberia, keeping a tight rein on his nobles. Jackals, the lot of them!

But there was one particular litter of ravenous beasts he wouldn't mind sending to harry the fledgling queen. Malcolm's two wives had provided several sons to squabble over his estates, and Aubrey suspected their internecine battle for dominance would be quite fascinating to watch over the weeks to come. And once they had his duchy sorted, the survivors could easily be steered into avenging their father. And that, Aubrey decided, could prove equally entertaining.

He stroked his nocturnal amusement, the new plaything he'd recently acquired because her resemblance to the Haldane Queen made her an endless source of delight. She flinched away. He laughed, tossing a short silk tunic-dress in her direction. "Cover up, then; it's almost time for Court. We wouldn't want my courtiers to behold you in your full splendour, now would we? The greedy bastards might want to share!"

With shaking fingers his captive unfurled the crimson fabric and donned the heraldic livery of the Haldane Lion.

###


End file.
